


Dangerous Woman

by wevegotworktodo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demons, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-07-14 23:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7195571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wevegotworktodo/pseuds/wevegotworktodo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine being a slightly nerdy, socially awkward female deputy (Shhh... You're really a stone cold fox underneath) of a mostly rural county deep in the heart of Tennessee. When Sam and Dean Winchester come into your station claiming to be FBI, you quickly realize something’s off. Finding out who they really are is at the top of your to do list.</p><p>You try to pretend to be confident in front of them, but you're really screaming on the inside. As you work the case of unsolved murders, you begin to come out of your shell. One of the brothers leads you to become who, deep down, you've always wanted to be.... A Dangerous Woman.</p><p>Now push past the cheese and enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Locked and Loaded

It was like a scene from the movies, the one where the door opens and the hot girl walks in. Light enveloping her as her hair blows in the breeze, it all happening in slow motion, the outfit, the supermodel walk, all of it - except it wasn't a hot girl - it was the Winchesters.

There was a brief flash of blinding light as Sam pulled the door open and stepped inside, Dean just behind. They were tall and broad shouldered, dressed to kill in well-tailored blue suits, the evening sun shining down on them as if they had ascended from the heavens.

They glided across the floor with poise and confidence. Their movements mirrored each other as they reached into their inside coat pockets and pulled out FBI badges.

“Hi, I'm Agent Betts, this is Agent Allman.” Sam ground out with a small smile.

*******************

She turned in her chair as the bells on the front door rang out, the scene unfolding before her eyes. Her breath hitched, her pulse quickened; she was awestruck. Who wouldn't be? The sheer force of beauty in front of her rendered her unable to form a coherent thought.

Holy schnikes batman!

She wasn't aware her mouth was gaping open until Dean spoke to her. “Are you ok  
off-i-cer...,” he leaned forward looking at the gold engraved name tag pinned to her shirt, “...Y/L/N?”

The sound of her name on his lips jolted her back to reality. His voice was low and gruff, and sent tingles dancing down her spine. “Oh...,” she pushed the thick black rims of her glasses back up onto her nose. “...yes. What can I do for you, Agents?’'

“We’re here looking into the recent murders in town.”

“Of course.” She stood from behind the desk, running her hands over her thighs to both straighten her slacks and to dry her sweaty palms. “Follow me, please.”

She led them down a long corridor to the last room on the left. The room was fairly modest in size, file cabinets lined one wall, shelves the other, a small table and several chairs in the middle. She motioned for the men to have a seat, turning her back to them, then leaned over to pick up a cardboard file box from the floor beside one of the larger cabinets.

Dean couldn't help but notice her curves as she bent in front of him, her polyester pants now taught enough across her rear to give him a teasing glimpse of what was hiding underneath.

Sam cleared his throat, flashing his brother a stern look for checking out the homely deputy. Dean shrugged his shoulders and grinned, straightened up in his chair, and smoothed his tie as she turned around.

When she sat the box on the table in front of Dean she leaned forward slightly and for a moment his eyes caught hers. She blushed, her cheeks turning a bright crimson red. She looked away pushing her glasses back up on her nose as she straightened her back. It was too late. He had seen something in her. There was a connection, a want -a need.

Dean’s mind drifted. He imagined her instead as a naughty librarian. A short plaid skirt, white button down top, but not buttoned at all, breasts spilling over the cups of her lace bra, white thigh high stockings. He imagined her looking down her nose at him over those thick black frames. He imagined her pulling them off and sucking the earpiece between her teeth, glasses dangling from her lips. He imagined her letting her long locks down out of that tight bun, hair cascading over her shoulders as she crawled across that table towards him.

Dean was brought back to reality by the sweet sound of her voice. “I know it's not much but it's everything we have.” He cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his chair.

Sam pulled a few items from the box, studying each one intently. “Ummm, there's only information in here on the one victim.” Sam narrowed his eyes and raised his brow in confusion. “We were told there were three.”

“Well, there have been three deaths recently, but only the stabbing case is still open. The other two were deemed animal attacks.”

“If you don't mind, we'd like to take a look at those files too.”

“Of course.” She returned to the wall of file cabinets. “Tell me, why does the FBI care about animal attacks?” She turned, producing two folders, passing them to Sam.

“Just crossin’ the t’s and dottin’ the i’s ma’am.” Dean chimed in.

“Not much in there, just the coroner's report and a few photos.” There was a moment of awkward silence as Sam riffled through the information. “So, I'll leave you to it. If you need anything I'll be out front.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and smirked as she turned and left the room.

“Really, dude?” Sam shook his head in disbelief.

“Don't judge me!” Dean ground out as he dug into the box, spreading evidence out around the table.

**********************

You paced behind your desk, still on edge after your interaction with the agents. You mentally kicked yourself in the ass for acting so ridiculous in front of the, albeit incredibly attractive, FBI.

Jesus, your mouth had actually been open. You had been gawking at him like he was fucking Brad Pitt or something. And that look in the file room! What the hell was that? Get a freakin' grip! They're just agents on a case, and you're...you.

You finally sat down, deciding the best way to clear your mind was to finish some backlogged reports. The Sheriff was on vacation, his annual single’s cruise, and the other evening shift Deputies took full advantage, going out hunting whatever kind of animal had killed two of your citizens. You knew, of course, that really meant they were off in the woods somewhere throwin’ back a few beers then shootin’ the bottles off of stumps, and it made you bitter. Five years on the force now and they still treated you like a rookie, like some sort of freakin’ secretary.

 

Clearing your head with paperwork wasn’t helping. You decided to check on the agents, maybe offer them some coffee or a doughnut. You didn’t necessarily mean to eavesdrop, it just happened that way. You had stopped to compose yourself, take a deep breath, practice what you were going to say when you knocked, but the door was slightly ajar. You picked up on a remnant of their conversation, something that peaked your interest, something that made you press your back into the corner and out of sight as you listened intently - ‘Werewolf.’

It came off his lips so slowly, deliberately, not at all in the joking manner one might expect in this situation. No, he was serious as a heart attack.

“Werewolf?”

“Maybe...I doubt it. The coroner’s reports don’t say anything about a missing heart.”

“Vamp?”

“Naaa. Too much blood at the scene.”

“Witch?”

“I don’t know man, guess we just need to find the connection between the vics, start there.”

Fuck!

These two obviously weren't FBI. Who were they?

You just made it your mission to find out.

*********

You stood in that corner for a good 10 minutes. No longer listening, sort of afraid of what you might hear, willing yourself to take each deep breath. You knew you couldn't stand here forever so you went over a little plan in your head, reassuring yourself that everything would be fine.

You knocked lightly on the door as you pushed it open. “Excuse me agents, but it's quittin’ time and I need to lock up.” -Lie. Your shift wasn't over for another two hours but you needed an excuse.

“Oh yea, absolutely.” Sam said as he pushed his chair back and stood, gathering miscellaneous items from the table, shoving them back into the cardboard box.

“I'm sorry, it’s just the night shift guys only come and go as needed, but you're more than welcome to take that with you.”

“Great! We'll do that.” He gathered the remaining items, placing the lid over the top of the box and tucked it under his long arm. “I do have a couple of question, if you don't mind.”

“Not at all.” You shifted your feet, trying to suppress your nervousness. All these years on the force and you can’t remember ever feeling more tense.

“The victims, did they know each other?”

“I'm sure they did, er’body knows everybody ‘round here. Think there's a connection agent?”

“Too soon to tell really.” He pursed his lips and you could all but see the wheels turning in his mind. “The uh, coroner’s report was a little vague…any of the vics missing an organ, heart maybe?”

“No, no, nothing specific like that, but he did say that the first vic, John Dishmon…” You were almost whispering now, like you were telling him some big secret, “... his insides were like jello, not much left to recognize in there.”

Jesus. Here you were caught up in their charm, spilling your guts when you didn't even know who the hell these guys were. Thank heavens they started to move, get you the hell outta dodge before you say anything else.

“Let us walk you out,” Dean offered as you all stepped into the hallway.

“You don't have to do that; I'm locked and loaded.” You patted your service revolver holstered at your hip and smiled, hoping he would take the hint that he didn't intimidate you. -Only he did.

He was simply the most gorgeous man you had ever laid eyes on. When you looked at him closely you noticed the spray of freckles across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, the crinkles beside his eyes when he smiled. The things that made him so real, so ordinary -yet he wasn't. He was anything, everything but ordinary - intimidating.

“I insist, there's a murderer on the loose after all.”

“I live for danger.” You snarked and rolled your eyes. “But if you insist... you'll have to wait for me to gather my things.”

*****************

You stood behind your open locker, staring into the small mirror on the door, chastising yourself out loud for what you had just said. “I live for danger, what kind of shit line was that? Good job, he thinks you're fucking crazy.”

“I don't think you're crazy.” His low gravelly voice filled the locker room. Fuck, you nearly jumped clean out of your skin. Dean pulled your locker door the rest of the way back until it was flush with the ones closed beside it, then took a step closer to you. “I actually thought it was cute.”

Your breath hitched, and your cheeks flushed. You made brief eye contact without actually looking him in the eye - you couldn't look him in the eye. “I don't know what your game is here Agent Allman…,” or whatever your name is, you silently thought as you grabbed your purse, pulling the strap up onto your shoulder and slamming your locker shut. “...but I'm not playin'.”

You had been here many times before, an attractive guy saying nice things to you in order to get something he wanted, and rarely was it actually you. Usually it would be some Joe Blow you pulled over for speeding or DUI, thinking he could woo you with flattery and you'd let him off with just a warning.

At this point the agent's motives weren't clear and you felt you couldn't afford to take any chances. You stormed out of the locker room passing Agent Betts in your haste, flashing him a cynical look. You held the front door open, tapping your foot impatiently waiting for the agents to exit into the darkness.

Dean smiled as he passed you by, stopping just outside the door as you locked up for the night. “I meant what I said, ya know?”

“Sure. Good to know you don't think I'm crazy.” You avoided what was really on your mind. Hopping in your squad car you closed the door quickly, making it clear to him that you were finished talking. Truth be told, if you had slowed down for even a moment, given him half a chance, you might of chickened out, ruined the whole plan.

They made their way across the lot to a sleek black Impala, pulling out into the street behind you. You made the first right, the Impala continuing straight ahead. Circling into the back lot of the station, you quickly switched into your personal car. You let your hair down as you pulled your Camaro out onto the street, hoping you wouldn't be recognized as you headed straight this time.

Luckily they had gotten caught at the next light so it didn't take but a minute for you to catch up, staying a couple of car lengths back, helping you to go unnoticed. When the Impala turned into the Shady Pines you circled the block and parked across the street at Mel's Diner choosing a nice spot with a good view of the motel.

You watched intently as they entered room 131, spotting nothing unusual as they only carried in the file box from the police station. You observed for a few more uneventful minutes before you pulled across to the motel lot, aiming to ask a few questions at the front desk.

You came out of the office holding a copy of the credit card receipt the ‘agents’ had used, the name Tony Gallo across the top. - Gotcha!

You weren't sure if you were happy your instincts had been right or worried because now you had a whole other problem on your hands. Why you? Why now? Two fake agents and you just handed them all of your evidence on the biggest case this town has ever seen. -Facepalm.

You laid in bed tossing and turning, thinking about who they might really be, thinking about the things you had overheard, thinking about the things he had said to you. The only sense you could make out of any of it was that your life was about to get a lot more complicated.


	2. Somethin' 'bout you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You see Dean again and things get a little heated.

You stood in the pouring rain, pulling your jacket tight around your chest looking for a little more warmth. Five minutes you stood in the rain. Five minutes pacing. Five minutes trying to remember why you were here in the first place. You took a deep breath as you knocked on room 131, still unsure of what exactly you would say when it opened. 

Agent Allman answered the door, making sweats and a tee look just as good as the suit he had on earlier in the day. 'Everything ok officer Y/L/N?'

“I...uh...just had a few questions.” But which ones? Which ones did you REALLY want the answers to? 

“Sure. Come in out of the rain.”

He left you standing in the middle of the room, soaked to the bone, shifting uncomfortably, still unsure as to why you were here. He reappeared out of the bathroom, towel in hand, which you graciously accepted. 

You tossed your fogged up glasses onto the table then reach up pulling your hair free of its ponytail. You dried your face and pulled the towel down the length of your hair, taking extra time drying the ends. 

 

When you glanced up at agent Allman he was staring at you, licking his lips, something carnal in his eyes. He glanced to the floor, then back at you. “So, you had some questions for me?” He gripped the back of the chair in front of him, knuckles turning white as he twisted them around the cool metal. 

Questions? Thousands. But only one was really on your mind, one you needed answered right here, right now. “Do you really think I'm cute Agent?” You stepped forward grazing your fingertips across his knuckles. 

“God yes.” He breathed out, “I mean, you're more than that...you're sexy as hell.” 

You pressed your chest to his, cupping his face in your hands and pushing yourself up onto tiptoes. You crashed your lips into his, you were needy and he sensed it, returning the sentiment with parted lips, tongue darting into your mouth, dancing with yours. 

 

He pushed the wet leather off your shoulders letting it fall to the floor with a thud. His hands raked down your back and up under the hem of your tee, stroking your stomach and rib cage as he pulled it over your head. His thumbs ghosted across your hard nipples through the thin lace fabric of your bra. 

You weren't waiting for him, you wanted this, needed this. You were already unbuttoning your jeans, toeing off your vans then peeling the wet fabric down your legs. You struggled, almost toppling over. He just smiled at you, and half chuckled, scooping you up into his arms and depositing you on the bed. 

He finished stripping you of your jeans and panties as you unhooked your bra, letting it slide off your arms. He took a step back, taking in every inch of you as the rain still glistened on your skin, looking at you through dark lust blown eyes. He told you how beautiful you were stretched out waiting for him. 

He was shirtless now, just rippling muscle after rippling muscle, so defined as he moved. His cock was strained under the fabric of the sweats, tented in the front, leaving little to the imagination. You reach out for him, grabbing the waistband of his pants, relieving the pressure in one swift motion. You thought you knew what you were getting yourself into, until now you had no idea. He was BIG, the biggest you'd ever seen. He stood straight and tall, thick and pink, precum spilling over the tip. 

You slid off the bed and onto your knees, taking him into the back of your throat in one fluid motion. He was salty, sinfully sweet, and soft like velvet on your tongue. You swirled around him as you bobbed your head. His fingers curled in your hair, his head thrown back, low groans and half growls coming from deep in his chest, cheering you on. 

He was panting, his entire body moving with each breath, finally he ground out, “Gotta stop....don't....wanna....cum...yet!” as he pulled away from you. You pouted, looking up at him like he had stolen your candy. He drug you to your feet, kissing you wildly as he laid you back onto the bed. His mouth trailed over your neck to your nipples, sucking each one into his mouth, hardening it, teasing it, sending a wave of pleasure through you with each touch. 

His hands moved south, fingers pulling through your folds to your dripping center. “So warm and so wet for me, is this what I do to you officer?” He breathed the words into your ear causing a shiver to run down your spine. 

You threw your head back and arched into him. “Since you walked in the door this evening”

 

He dipped his head, licking a long stripe through you with a flattened tongue. The sounds he made as he tasted you enough to stoke the fire burning in your belly. When his tongue found your clit you arched up into him again, squirming under him as he swirled around the sensitive nerves. He plunged his tongue inside you, as your hand moved to run through his short blonde locks. You guided him as he explored, although he needed no direction, he knew exactly where he was going and how to get you both there. 

Leaving you just as quickly as he found you, he laid sloppy open mouthed kisses across your hip and up the side of your torso. He teased at the swell of your breast as his fingers twisted and pinched your nipples, sending another wave of arousal to your core. 

He continued to explore you, kissing over your shoulders, and the back of your neck. He guided you onto your stomach as his hands roamed over your hips and ass, his lips gently moving down your spine. 

His fingers moved through your cheeks plunging into your sopping wet pussy, eliciting a low groan from your lips. He scissored his fingers inside you, opening you up to accommodate his impressive size. When he was satisfied you were ready he straddled your thighs, your legs between his only slightly apart. 

 

He pumped his cock a few times, coercing even more wetness from his own tip, before lining it up with your entrance. Pushing in punishingly slow he leaned forward suckling at your earlobe and pulse point. His hips were snugly against your ass when he started moving, pushing and pulling, in and out, back and forth. 

 

As he set a pace which was destined to tear you apart, he tangled his fingers in your hair close to your skull. He tugged on your still wet locks, pulling your head back to meet his, kissing you fiercely. Your nails dug into his thighs as you wound tighter and tighter. 

 

The sweet sound of wet skin slapping filled the room, along with sinful praises, and guttural moans. His pace started to quicken, and you could tell he was close, you were close. You felt yourself beginning to come undone, each pull stroking your g spot. 

 

You came white hot and hard in your panties, your walls contracting around nothingness, desperate to be filled. 

Still sweating and panting from your orgasm you were suddenly startled awake by the sound of your phone. In an absentminded reaction you hit the accept button pressing the phone to your ear. 

 

“Y/L/N get over here right away, Evea Brown just found her husband's body.”

 

****************************

 

The front door had been knocked completely off its hinges, laying a good 8 feet from the entrance. Mr. Brown’s mutilated body was in the kitchen floor, partially concealed by the peninsula, only a shoe and a puddle of blood visible from the foyer.

You were stooped over the body, snapping pictures of the scene, completely focused on not disturbing any evidence. You stood and turned rapidly, bouncing straight off of his chest. His reflexes were good, you'd give him that, because he caught you, stopping you from tumbling backwards onto the corpse.

“Agent Allman,” you breathed out shakily. - Awkward.

 

You wanted to die...you wanted to crawl in a hole and fucking die. 45 minutes ago just thinking about this man had you cumming in your sleep, and now your clumsiness had landed you in his arms, so close in fact you could smell a hint of whiskey masked well behind a mixture of cinnamon and mint. You felt the heat rise into your face, the color of the blood splatter no match for your shade of red.

 

“Don't sneak up on people like that!” You swatted at him, pulling out of his arms. “You could of ruined the crime scene.”

“Ummm, sorry. I was about to say something.. and then you did the thing.” He swirled his index finger around in the air. “...and then…” he shrugged, “I’m sorry.”

You couldn't help but chuckle at his explanation. One sentence and a pirouetting finger brought down a section of the wall you'd been building for as long as you could remember.

“Thoughts officer?”

“Well, you just missed The Department of Fish and Wildlife. Warden seems to think it was some sort of k-9, maybe a wolf. Personally Agent I don't think a wolf can knock down a locked door.” You stood with your arms crossed staring at the splintered remnants where the front door once was.

“Dean.”

“What?”

“You can call me Dean.”

“Ok Dean...I don't think a wolf can knock down a locked door. Thoughts?”

“Breakfast.” He reach for your hand “I'm buyin',” but you pulled back at the last minute, just as what he said registered.

“What? No!”

“Ahhh...yea. You asked for my thoughts, I'll give them to you over breakfast. Now come on, I'm starving.”

 

******************************  
You arched an eyebrow, you had never seen anything like it in your entire life. “Pie? For breakfast?” 

“I also ordered pancakes and the pie is really good here, besides it’s like 3AM so we haven't technically crossed the breakfast threshold, I can have what I want.” Dean put up his best defense. 

 

You pulled the spoon from your cup, sticking it in your mouth, sucking off the drops of coffee, then pointing it his direction. “Even the bar flies have crossed the breakfast threshold.” You smirked, eyes drifting around to the 20 somethings in the corner devouring heaps of bacon and eggs. 

You wanted so badly to hold back. To brick that wall up so high and so thick that it was impenetrable by even the smoothest charms. But you couldn't, your heart wouldn't let you. 

 

Now your mind was a different story, part of it was telling you to run, fast and hard, and to not look back. That there was a case to solve, that he just might be connected somehow. That regardless of how wet your panties were right now, that there were other things to be considered. 

 

But, you didn't listen to your mind. You stayed put, right there in that booth with him, wanting more than anything for circumstances to be different. Wondering if you concentrated hard enough you could will that Kinkos badge of his into being authentic. That would make at least the biggest majority of your problems go away. 

 

You sipped your coffee. The warmth of the cup in your hands helping to soothe you. “So, where's your partner at tonight?”

 

“He was still pouring over the files you gave us when I left. Trying to find a link between the victims.”

 

“So you do think there's a connection? With Mr. Brown too?”

 

“Possibly, I mean anything's possible right?”

 

“Not anything. See, there are flaws in what the Warden said.” Here you go again! Details dumbass, keep ‘em to yourself! 

 

“Like what?”

 

“Well, for starters there are no wolves indigenous to Tennessee. I think he's stumped, blowin’ smoke up my ass, hopin’ I don't notice ‘n raise a big stink.” Dean looks fairly impressed, lips are pursed, he's shaking his head in agreeance so you continue. “ Regardless, I still say there's no way a freakin’ wolfe did that, to the body maybe, but not to that door.”

 

“Maybe he huffed and puffed and blew it down.” He was so serious when he said it, you thought for a moment he believed it, but then the oddest thing happened -a smile snuck across his face. But not like the one you'd seen in the station, or even back at the crime scene. Not that I'm being polite smile again. This one was warm and genuine, and spread from ear to ear as he rocked back in his chair seemingly amused with himself. 

 

That goddamned smile was so pretty, your heart fluttered, and you felt a pull in your chest, as a heat rose in your cheeks. You gripped your cup a little tighter, staring down into the steaming liquid, needing to look anywhere but directly at him. 

 

You finally composed yourself enough to speak. “Seriously though?”

 

“Seriously, Sam and I plan on questioning the families of the vics tomorrow, see what we can dig up.”

 

“Great, I’ll go with you.”

 

“No offense but…,” oh here it comes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Swift kick right to your own ass. 

 

You interrupted him before he could say it. “But, you’re the FBI and I’m just a deputy.” Jesus, just when you thought he was perfect he had to go and put his foot in his mouth. No offense always means I’m going to offend you now, but i don’t want you to be mad, ok? Who the hell was he to say that crap anyway, he was a nobody, an imposter. 

 

When you stood from the table his eyes widened. Just before you turned to leave you leaned down and in your best sexy voice whispered in his ear. “No offense, but you’re an asshole.”


	3. Don't need permission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You work the case of unsolved murders without Dean's permission and he's pretty pissed.

Dean knew she’d had enough, What he didn’t expect was how turned on he was when she breathed it into his ear, her voice so low and sexy, sending a tingle straight to his cock. “No offence, but you’re an asshole.” Then she sauntered away like she didn’t have a care in the world. He was smiling, congratulating her for bringing him down a peg -he wasn’t sure she had it in her. 

 

He wanted to go after her, to tell her she was right, he was an asshole, but then what would he say?

 

He has to keep a distance, regardless of how she’s captivated him. She’s complex, a different type of complex than most women, and he can’t seem to break her code. Most of the time he’d just flash a smile and they’d be putty in his hands, not her. -Yea, he’d seen her blush, more than once in fact, but she always seemed to pull free from his hold, to snap back, to give him exactly what he’d been dishin’ out. 

 

**************

 

She didn’t know if she wanted to slap him or kiss him, so she took the middle ground. She felt his eyes on her as she walked away, a burn searing into her skin. As soon as she was out that front door and out of his sight...she lost it. Her knees were weak, so she leaned against the cool brick exterior, just standing there trying to catch the breath she’d held in the entire walk out of the diner. Her chest was pounding, vision blurred, stomach churning, as she wondered about this effect he had on her.

 

She wasn’t sure what this was, it was new, it was exciting, and it scared the shit out of her. She had always bantered back and forth with the guys at the station, her way of putting up walls, defending herself, but that was different, they were different, Dean was -different. He made her different -bold, brazen, completely out of character. 

 

***************

 

The Impala pulled up outside of the home of the first victim, a well maintained estate several miles passed the other side of town. Dean ogled over the classic car parked in the drive as the two made their way to the front door. Sam rang the doorbell and they were quickly greeted by a young woman in a baby blue uniform dress and white stockings, hair pulled back into a low bun. They introduced themselves to her as agent Allman and agent Betts, flashing their fake badges. She welcomed them into the home, leading them to the living area where Mr. Dishmon’s widow was already seated talking with another guest. 

 

You wished you’d been able to capture the look on Dean’s face when he saw you there chatting up Mrs. Dishmon. Priceless.

 

You had imagined this moment in the early morning hours, after you’d calmed down from the encounter at the diner, while you were going over your questions for the families in your head, when you had silently hoped it would play out like this. You had dressed special for this occasion, tight black pants, boots and a fitted navy blue sweater embroidered with the department’s logo. Your hair was in a high ponytail, loose tendrils framing your face, and you had applied a light coat of mascara and some lip gloss -just in case. 

 

Dean had been thanking the help, preparing to introduce himself and Sam to Mrs. Dishmon when he saw you. His eyes widened, eyebrow arched, head bobbed forward in disbelief. He coughed, trying, and failing miserably at hiding his surprise. You had to look away to stifle your own laughter, starring into your hands and biting your lip. Sam took charge, introducing himself and his partner to the widow. 

 

You sat silent while Sam explained the reason for their visit. ‘Just a few routine questions,’ he said. You stared at Dean with a mischievous grin on your face, knowing you were under his skin. You patted the older lady’s hand “Ok, that’s all I need from you Nancy, if you think of anything else, please give me a call. I can see my own way out.” 

 

You were halfway down the sidewalk when you heard the front door open behind you. You picked up your pace a little without looking back. You were unlocking the car when Dean caught up to you. Without a word he grabbed your arm, spun you around and pinned you between your car and his body. It was a typical asshole move, corner you, make you feel inferior. His chest was pressed against you, your right thigh trapped between his legs. 

 

“What are you doing?” his voice was low and gravely, and in this position, your bodies so close, you could feel it vibrate through you like a smooth bass. You slumped a little, you wanted to melt into his arms, ask him to take you right there in the back seat of the classic Camaro. Luckily you had rehearsed this enough times in your mind to be able to gather your composure fairly quickly. 

 

“Surprised to see me agent?” you looked up at him and smiled, batting your eyelashes. He was surprised to see you, he'd figured you were pissed, that you'd back off. That he could wrap this case up in a neat little bow and be on his way with fewer complications. Wrong. 

 

Dean rolled his eyes, “I thought we talked about this?”

 

“Oh, we did...I remember the conversation quite well. I asked to come with you...you said no. But, I don't need permission, so... I drove myself,” you spoke to him like you would a toddler, “See this is my car, that one is yours.” As you motioned over to the Impala you straightened your back and shifted your weight. Although it wasn't intentional your thigh moved between his legs, and damn it, with just a small touch you could already feel a dampness forming in your panties. 

 

“Jesus woman, what is with you?” His voice was raised, his eyes were wild. He was half asking about what you had said, half asking about the way you moved. He had definitely felt it, felt you press into him. As flashes of what he'd like to do to you on the hood of that car flooded his mind he wondered if the move had been on purpose. Were you just trying to get to him? Because it was working. With you it was hard to tell though. He couldn't read you and it frustrated the hell out of him. 

 

“What's with you?” You quipped back, wide eyed. “Last time I checked this was still my county, I have just as much right to question a witness as you do! Even more so!” 

 

He turned his ear to you, he couldn't believe what you said. “Even more so? Sweetheart, I'm the freakin’ FBI, we have jurisdiction on this case.” Yep, that had done it, he was pissed!

 

You pushed the thick black frames up your nose, and took in a long deep breath. For the second time in less than eight hours you’d had about enough of his shit. “Are you sure about that? Last time I checked 70’s rock bands don't have jurisdiction over a fucking thing.” You stood straighter, this time grinding your thigh into him with a purpose. 

 

Dean stopped hovering over you, he moved back, still pinning you against car but with less enthusiasm. He stroked the back of his neck, unable to look directly at you. You knew you had him, time to hit him again. “Think I've never heard of the Allman brothers? Cat's outta the bag now Dean. Is that even your name? Dean? Maybe it's Tony Gallo like on the credit card you used. Doubt it, you don't look Italian.” You paused for a minute, he wasn't saying anything and you needed to breathe. “I get the credit card thing, that one makes sense, but why work a case? I just don't --”

 

He finally looked up at you, cutting you off. “It's complicated.”

 

“For you maybe.” You took advantage of the extra room between you, reaching back, grabbing a pair of handcuffs from your waist band, slapping one down onto Dean’s wrist. 

 

You were too busy metaphorically patting yourself on the back to notice what was happening. One quick movement by Dean and he had your arm cuffed to his. “I have the key.” You scoffed at him as you rolled your eyes. 

 

“Where?” He took a step back, pulling you away from the car, he looked you up and down, taking extra time to thoroughly check out your ass. “It's not hiding in those pants. Yea, there's... there’s no key in there.” He saw it in your face when you glanced back at the car, knowing the key was still dangling in the door with the rest. He pulled you forward again, this time you lost your balance a little and toppled forward grabbing onto his bicep with your free hand for leverage as you spilled into him. - Dejavu. 

 

And damn that perfect bicep, so large and firm and rippling under your touch. And damn him for smelling like a fresh meadow breeze or some other bullshit name for men’s body wash. He smelled good, fuck, he felt even better. You figured if you jumped, just the tiniest little leap, you could just wrap your legs around his waist. He could hold you up, palming your ass, steady you against the car long enough to get both zippers undone and your panties jerked to one side. Fuck you into oblivion right there in the drive. 

 

But you didn't jump, you didn't take that chance. 

 

Once you were steady on you feet he pulled you towards the Impala, he opened the driver's door, insistent that you climb in. You didn't resist, it was strange how you trusted him, even in your current situation. Mental note: make a psychiatrist appointment, surely you’re mad.

 

He pulled his phone from his suit jacket and shot Sam a quick text -- Kidnapped the deputy, keys are in her car when your done. 

 

You sat in silence during the drive, doubting that if he was going to kill you he'd drive back into town to do it, your instincts about him must of been right. You were stopped at a red light when he looked over at you. “Why do you look so smug”

 

“Because I was right about you.” You shot him a cheeky grin. 

 

“You're about to find out just how wrong you are lady.” Dean had both hands on the wheel, twisting his hands around it in frustration, knuckles white. Seemingly ignoring the pain in his wrist from the handcuffs digging into his flesh as your arm dangled from his. 

 

“Y/N.”

 

“What?”

 

You rolled your eyes, didn't you just have this exact conversation earlier? “You can call me Y/N, and I was right...I can trust you.” 

 

You rubbed your metal encased wrist, suddenly feeling a little empathy for every scumbag you'd ever arrested. Dean had been previously oblivious, but now noticed how uncomfortable you were. He moved his hand from the wheel, placing it on your knee and squeezing. You tensed under his touch, maybe he was going to kill you after all. Wouldn't take much now, another touch, your eyes to meet, surely either would cause your heart to stop on the spot. Hope he knows CPR. 

 

You weren't surprised when you pulled into the motel lot. “Typical.” Dean narrowed his eyes at you but not saying a word as he slid from the driver's seat, giving you time to climb out behind. 

 

Once inside Dean sat you in a chair. He pulled the other over in front of you, spinning it around backwards and straddling it. “When are you gunna take these off?” You asked as you rubbed your wrist. 

 

“After you've heard me out.” He placed his cuffed hand on your knee again, causing you to squirm under him. 

 

“Fine, whatever, spill it then.”

 

“My name really is Dean-- Winchester. Sam and I are brothers.” Brothers. Figures, must be a hell of a gene pool. Damn it! Either this bastard was very observant or it was blatantly obvious you had checked out for a moment. “Are you even listening?”

 

“Yea, yea, sorry. Please... continue.”

 

“We’re what you call hunters, we track down and kill…”

 

“Werewolves, vampires...witches.”

 

He looked confused. “How...how’d you know?” 

 

“Overheard you last night at the station. You should really make sure doors are closed behind you.” 

 

“Point taken. Look I don't think these are just ordinary animal attacks. It's much more than that Y/N, I need you to back off before you get yourself hurt.”

 

You peered at him through narrow eyes. “If you think I actually believe this shit you're crazier than I thought.”

 

“You said you trusted me, so trust me.” His gaze met yours and his eyes- Oh God, his eyes. They were like precious jewels, emeralds to be exact, with flecks of gold shimmering as they caught the light. You felt yourself leaning forward, needing more. -Saved by the bell. 

 

He fished the phone from his pocket, pressing the accept button then holding it to his ear. Even as close as the two of you were you couldn't make out the words on the other end, only Dean’s. “What d’ya got for me…? No...no, not as bad as it sounds...Yea, poor choice of words...Nope, we’re just having a little chat...Get anything?...Yea, OK...take your time...I wish, but no...OK see you then.” 

 

You stared at your lap during the entire phone conversation, way too afraid, or too embarrassed to look at him as he spoke. Afraid you'd get lost somewhere in those full, wet lips. The ones that were somewhere between Sephora’s innocent and adorable on the color wheel. Yea, somewhere in there, but if you had to choose a description not based on a lipstick color you'd go for more of a sinful/delicious combination. 

 

He shifted in his seat, putting the phone back into his pocket. You took a deep breath as you raised your head, pushing your glasses up on your nose with your free hand. You had hoped like hell your cheeks weren't flushed. Apparently your prayers were going unanswered today because when he turned to look at you again a smile crept across his face. Ok, that's it. You're done. You've gotta ask this asshole for his CPR card because you’re definitely having palpitations. Too early for an ambulance? Maybe a defibrillator, just a little shock to get you right back into a normal sinus rhythm. 

 

*******

 

Dean loved it, loved the redness in your cheeks when he frustrated you, or when he turned you on. He was starting to feel like it was a mixture of both. He knew he was both frustrated and turned on, and if you pushed your glasses back so seductively one more time he was gunna have to put those handcuffs to better use.


	4. Completely Focused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean suffers from a moment of weakness which almost gets him killed.

Dean was so focused he never heard a sound other than the ones you were making together. 

 

His heart racing, beating so loudly in his ears he could count every single thud. Your panting, the way you drew quick, almost cheap, breaths when you pulled away long enough to gasp for air. The little “Nnngggs” and “Aaahhhs” pulled from deep in the back of each of your throats. 

 

The beginning wasn't like this. It was the exact opposite. Dean heard nothing, his vision was tunneled, only you at the end. It was like time almost stopped, everything moving in slow motion. This wasn't a new feeling for him, he had it quite often, generally after being knocked senseless by some random monster, and just like all of those times before he ran completely on autopilot. Unlike all of those times before -you had started it all. 

 

You had been frustrated with the entire situation. You couldn't look directly at Dean so you were staring into your lap. That's when you took your glasses off, pinched the bridge of your nose, sighed, then put them back on again. Before he realized what was happening he stood and moved his chair from between you. He no longer heard the traffic from the street outside. He didn't hear you when you took the lord’s name in vain as he used the cuffs to drag you to your feet and into his arms. He didn't hear you when you asked ‘What the…?’

 

Dean’s senses returned, heightened and in tune with your body, only when his lips ghosted across yours. That's when he heard your breath hitch, heard you sigh into him. He even caught a bit of a heart skipping a beat, though he wasn't sure if it was yours or his. 

 

He entwined your fingers together as he pushed you against the wall “Uggghhh.” and he could swear he felt every ridge of your fingerprints as they pressed into his knuckles. As your lips parted for his he felt the warmth of your breath deep down in his belly and when your lips touched again, there was a spark, no - a fire that rushed through him. 

 

When the warmth and wetness of your tongues met, well Dean felt that too. Not just in his cock, where he had expected, but in his entire being. He felt every ripple, every wave of arousal that coursed through your body, as it was somehow flowing in his veins, keeping him alive just to be with you. 

 

You were the only thing in Dean’s world at this moment, completely focused 110% directly on you. On your mouth, your heartbeat, your sighs and moans, your lips, skin, all of it. That's why he didn't hear it. He was too consumed by you to hear anything else happening. He never heard the motor of the car, or the jingle of the keys as they were tucked away safely in a pocket. He never heard the pick as it slid into the keyhole, or the click as the door unlatched. He missed the subtle squeak of the door as it was pushed open. 

 

Dean did however feel the bullet pierce his skin before he actually heard the shot. Now his ears were ringing, his body overcome with pain, where just milliseconds ago there had been so much pleasure. 

 

Again, things were happening in slow motion. Disoriented yourself you were pulled to the floor by a falling Dean. Uugghh! You managed to pull the .380 you had hidden in your boot, squeezing off three rounds. The son of a bitch smiled at you, eyes flashing black as night, shaking you to the core. You inhaled a deep breath, blinked slowly, trying to gain some composure, then emptied the rest of your clip into his chest as he took another step closer. 

 

Thank god for Sam. He showed up spouting what seemed like a thousand Latin words so fast you'd swear to him later he'd missed his calling as an auctioneer. Black smoke poured from the man’s mouth, up toward the ceiling and out the front door. What the...You had no idea what you had seen, maybe just didn't give a fuck at the moment as long as it wasn't attacking you. 

 

Sam rushed to Dean’s side ripping open his shirt and inspecting the wound. It wasn't bad, but the bullet was lodged in his shoulder. 

 

“It doesn't seem that bad. I...I don't understand why he's unconscious?” Sam ground out. 

 

You cradled Dean’s face in your hand, like you had done just moments before when your lips were… now there was a moisture on your fingertips and as you pulled them from his hair you saw red. 

 

********************

 

By the evening of the incident you had tied up all of the loose ends with the department. There were only a few questions for you to answer since Sam, still formally known to the rest of the deputies as ‘Agent Betts,’ had delivered a very convincing story of the chain of events. 

 

Dean wakes in the hospital early the next morning. Sam is right there by his side, long legs stretched across two chairs, arms folded, head buried into the corner as he slept. Dean whirls a pillow at his head, startling him from his slumber. 

 

He hadn't been awake long when you made it to the hospital, breakfast in tow. You pull out a box filled with bacon and eggs for each of them and an extra little box for Dean. He smiles when he sees it, grinning from ear to ear, that same pretty fucking smile he'd given you in the diner. ‘Is that..?’

 

You nod and return small smile, “Pie...for breakfast.” 

 

Dean shoves a forkful of eggs and an entire strip of bacon into his mouth. “See Sammy, even Y/N remembers the pie, and you said I had bad taste in women.” 

 

You blush, wanting to, needing to, hide. Why the hell were you here? It was one kiss, one. Mmmkay, maybe more like one short make out session. One extremely hot, weak in the knees, panties dripping wet, make out session that would've left you breathless and writhing even without the gunfire and the...whatever. 

 

“Dean you have horrible taste in women, and I stand by my decision, especially since this one’s makin’ me look bad right outta tha gait.” Sam looks up at you and winks. 

 

Suddenly self conscious you grab your purse and coat. “I should go…” fumbling around looking for your keys. 

 

“Actually, I was hoping you'd look after him for a bit while I freshen up.” Sam stands from his chair and is already heading for the door. 

 

‘Yea, please stay. Sammy gets cranky if he doesn't get to curl his hair.’ Dean chuckles as Sam rolls his eyes. 

 

‘Sure, I'll stay.’ You manage to croak out. 

 

‘Great.’ Sam calls back as he’s already heading out, leaving you standing there alone with Dean, nervous, speechless, chewing on your bottom lip as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. 

 

Dean didn't seem to notice your discomfort as he was busy digging into his large piece of pecan pie. You finally broke your silence by asking, “So, you're ok?’

 

“Ummm yea, they've got me on some wicked awesome pain meds and doc said my CT was normal, so just a little knock on the head.”

 

“Good, I was uh…worried about you.” You’re staring at the floor and you shift your weight again. You're almost afraid to look at him for too long. Afraid because you're not sure what this is.

 

“And…the…ummm, black eyes, the smoke?” You try to push your feelings aside for a bit, this question has been burning a hole in the tip of your tongue for hours and hours now. 

 

“Demon.” He says it with no emotion, as he takes another bite of pie, like this word was a common one in his vocabulary. 

 

“Demon?” You let out a little sarcastic chuckle. “Next you'll tell me your BFFs with God, having sleepovers, braiding his hair and shit.” Oh hi, glad to see you back so soon -smart ass. All of the nervousness had faded away. Sometimes, it just seemed so easy to let your personality flourish with Dean. Even if those times seemed few and far between. 

 

“No...I mean his hair’s too short to braid, so…’ He runs his fingers through his own hair and shrugs, giving you a grumpy cat face. 

 

You laugh -damn him- and brush off the comment, thinking it was just part of his charisma, another one of his charms. “And this demon, why is it trying to kill you?”

 

“Any number of reasons.” Again, no fucking emotion whatsoever. 

 

“I’m new to all this so you’re gunna have to be more specific.” You snap back. 

 

“Oh, I don’t know. Could be related to the case, could just be because it’s a freakin’ demon! But just to be safe I need you to step back from this Y/N, let me and Sam handle it.”

 

“Yea, you’re doing a bang up job of handling it!” you spit back at him. Yep, your personality was flourishing alright, straight to bitch mode. Dean was constantly challenging you, forcing you a little further out of your shell. 

 

“Minor setback is all.” 

 

“Minor? Where I’m from being shot isn’t a minor setback.”

 

“And in my line of work it is, so please just stop and let me do my job.”

 

“I'm not even sure what your ‘job’ is Dean.” you go full on air quotes and head bob, rich with sarcasm. “Look, five people in my community are dead. One of which was probably an innocent man that I just filled full of bullets, so I'm sorta vested at this point.” 

 

He adjusts himself in the bed and leans forward slightly, “Then get un-vested Y/N, because I forbid you to work anymore of this case.”

 

“You fucking forbid me? Dean, you're not my father, and you don't have a ring on my finger or one in my nose, so you don't get to lead me around and tell me what to do!” Who the hell does he think he is? You grab your shit, wadding your jacket up in your hands, not bothering to pull your purse onto your shoulder. Seemed to be a thing with you two, you pissed each other off and when you'd had enough you would just leave, run away. 

 

You turn your back and start out, not nervous this time like the last. One foot is out the door when he calls out to you. “Y/N, please don't go.” You stop dead in your tracks, back still turned on him. A deep breath fills your lungs, as you stand still for a moment waiting for him to say something more. 

 

Dean just didn't know what to say to you, he hopes you'll turn around, take him asking you to stay as an apology. He’s just as disappointed as you were when instead of turning around you take another step out the door and keep walking. 

 

Halfway to the elevator, halfway when you realize…God damn it!

 

Dean’s sitting back in the bed, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed. They pop open immediately when he hears the thud of your purse and coat hitting the floor just inside his room. Just in time to become astutely aware of his heart speeding in his chest. 

 

You move forward with one purpose and one purpose only. When your lips crash into his you feel it in your core, deep down in your belly, even in your bones. Just as you thought, you are soooo screwed.


	5. Know what I'm doin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You save Dean and Sam from a pack of demons. Dean relents to letting you help with the case and the two of you end up back at your apartment.

Confusion swirls in your head, as a part of you says that Dean was right, you should take a step back from the case. You don't have any business dealing with demons since you just found out yesterday that they even exist. But... there's that other part of you. The one that wants to do something to help, to be strong and independent. You're thinking about this, about him, as you're driving around town, a routine patrol, when you manage to catch an intriguing glimpse off to the side of the road. 

 

You're not sure what made you glance over, maybe just a simple flash of her chrome glistening in the evening sunlight. Right here at the edge of town, tucked neatly between two long since abandoned warehouses, is the shiny black ‘67 Impala you'd recognize anywhere. You make a quick u-turn, pulling in and parking directly in front of Dean’s car, you climb out of your cruiser and take a quick scan of the area. You're wondering why they're here, seems like an unlikely location for pretty much anything legal. 

 

You hear a man scream, Fuck! it seems close, so you unholster your weapon and run in that direction. Only the scream fades away into nothingness and you're worried, you're really worried. Dean’s here somewhere, already injured and concussed, and right now you're silently praying to God he's still alive. 

 

You stop at the end of the alley, listening, needing a clue as to which way to go. Your heart is pounding in your ears, your breath is labored, but you still manage to hear something so you go right. There's a loading dock, one of the garage doors is up and from this angle you can see Sam and Dean. There's a second of relief, only a second, because there are four men closing in on them, another lying on the floor. There’s a fight, more like a life and death struggle. Dean stabs one of them in the chest, a bright golden light flickering throughout his body before he falls lifeless to the floor -yea, that's not normal. 

 

You’re inside the warehouse now and you know you need to help, but don’t really know how, so you advance anyway. Sam is in one corner, holding his own with two of them, so you head towards Dean. You notice a difference in his posture, a slump as he holds his injured shoulder with the opposite hand, but only for a second before this guy charges him. He’s noticed the injury too and is taking full advantage of Dean’s weak spot as they struggle. Dean is thrown against the far wall and the knife he was holding is now sliding across the floor towards your feet. His eyes follow it across the room and that’s when he sees you there. You’re already bent over reaching for the knife when he calls your name, cries out to warn you, but it’s too late, you feel arms grab you from behind, wringing your wrist, and causing you to loosen your grip on your gun. 

 

One arm is twisted behind you, and your own gun is pushed into your ribs. You shake your head from side to side, pooch out your bottom lip and push a deep breath upward, moving the stray strands of hair from your face and survey the scene again. Sam is still in his corner, two guys holding him steady as he struggles to move from their grip. Dean is against the opposite wall, you can see his chest moving with each breath, even from this far away, and the blood starting to soak through the arm of his green jacket. The guy he was fighting is now standing beside him, sort of daring him to make a move. 

 

The one holding you starts to speak, “Well, well, well, what do we have here? Stumble into something here officer, or do you know these putz?”

 

You're silent. Thinking. 

 

“Let her go!” Dean calls out, apologizing to you over and over again with just his eyes. 

 

“Yea, not a chance, I like the idea of taking you all to meet the boss, and if you struggle… well… it’d be a shame to have to waste something so innocent.” He uses the barrel to brush your hair away from your temple then pushes the gun forcefully back into your ribs causing you to lurch forward. 

 

Then so quickly you remember, you remember the mistake you made, only now it may be your way out. Last night you cleaned your gun, made sure she was shiny and oiled up, put all of the pieces back together, and loaded the clip. Except, except...you didn’t chamber a round, any other situation and this would be the reason you’re in dire straights, but given the circumstances it could be your saving grace. Dean’s knife is still lying on the floor a few feet away, exactly where it had landed, so close you can clearly make out the intricate engraving on the blade. You’re already slumped over so you take your chance, hoping like hell you’re right and this asshole hasn’t noticed your little faux pa. 

 

You lunge forward and your arm comes free from the douche’s grip. You fall, hitting your knees and then you lean, scooping up the knife as you fall onto your shoulder and hip, and it hurts like hell when you hit the concrete. You swing your legs around, effectively sweeping his out from under him. He hits the ground right beside you and squeezes the trigger…click -nothing. You roll and drive the knife into his torso, he wails and there's that same flickering golden light coursing through his body - then nothing. 

 

You look over your shoulder and Dean is coming toward you, you slide the knife across the concrete floor and he does a drop, grab and roll maneuver too, only his is much more graceful, and he's back on his feet, running the knife up and into the SOB’s throat just under his chin. You both break for Sam, Dean’s faster of course, and together they make short work of the other two. 

 

Dean’s leaned over, hands on his knees, chest heaving with each rushed breath. He looks up at you, pissed and relieved, and you ready yourself for the scolding that he’s about to give. “What the fuck was that Y/N?” He stands upright as the words flow. 

 

“You’re welcome.” It's a sarcastic tone, comes across exactly as it was meant to. 

 

“Really, that’s all you have to say? What if that gun had gone off? You’d be dead!” He all but yells the last part at you. 

 

You smile, more of a grin, and you can tell immediately you're under his skin. “You underestimate me Winchester.” Without another word you make your way to to where the weapon is lying on the floor. You push the button on the side, releasing the magazine, which is still full, then pull back on the slide showing Dean nothing is in the chamber. “I fucked up, I’ll admit that, but it sure saved your ass.” You replace the clip, chamber a round, and turn the safety on before you tuck the gun back into it's holster at your hip. 

 

“Come on Dean, give her a break. She really did save our asses.” Sam scolds Dean and gets an icy stare in return.

 

He looks back at you, then at the floor as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Yea...yea, I guess she did.” 

 

“Uh, not to change the subject here guys but...who or what is all of this.” You point to the carnage laying around the room. 

 

“Demons.” Sam's the first one to speak up. 

 

“Hmmm,” you sort of breathe it out through your nose. “I thought demons did the black smoke thingy when you killed them.” 

 

“No...no, that's only when you exorcise them.” Well alrighty then. 

 

“Interesting,” you're stooped beside the body of your attacker, rummaging through his pockets. “Either of you interested in who any of these poor bastards were?”

 

They both looked at each other and shrugged, you stood, flipping open the guy’s wallet. “David Sanders, says here he's from Bartlett, makes sense.” 

 

“Why does that make sense?” Sam asks 

 

“The suit,” you say it like they should already be on the same page as you. “How you guys feel about a trip to Memphis?” 

 

“Sure, Sam and I will head out in the morning.” Dean chimes in. 

 

“Great, I'll be ready by eight.”

 

“Oh no missy, you're stayin’ right here.”

 

“You don't even know why you're going in the first place. It’s my lead and I intend to follow it through.” You drop the wallet on the ground and turn to head out of the building. 

 

“Y/N wait,” Dean calls after you. “Damn it!Sammy, you got this?”

 

“Yea man, go.”

 

Dean jogs down the alley to catch up with you.

“Y/N, hey... wait up.” 

 

You stop dead, your back still to Dean as he comes up beside you. “What now?” You roll your eyes and shake your head. 

 

“Alright...alright...I give, but look, if we're gunna do this together then you're gunna need a crash course in monsters 101.” You walk towards your car together. 

 

“So drinks then?”

 

“Yea.”

 

“Ok, I need to change first, patch you up.”

 

“Sounds good.” You both climb into your cruiser and head for your apartment. 

*****************

 

You change out of your uniform and into a pair of skinny jeans and a light blue tank, then let your hair down out of it’s bun since it was a post fight mess anyway. You brush out the tangles and throw your glasses back on before heading into the kitchen where Dean was waiting. 

 

He’s sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen island, already got a bottle of whiskey open and if you were the betting type you’d say he’d already downed several before you came back into the room. You pour you both a shot and they're gone before you sit the bottle down on the counter. You pour Dean another and grab the first aid kit, then wet a washcloth. 

 

He peels off his jacket and starts to undo the top button of his shirt. You innocently move closer, standing between his legs, and fuck it was a bad move. The second the inside of his thigh brushes yours you take in a short burst of air and Dean hears, feels, you tense. He continues to unbutton his shirt but he's looking you in the eyes as he does it, like it's some sort of goddamn striptease. 

 

You blink, trying to break his spell, and he senses your shyness starting to overcome you. He pulls his flannel off throwing it onto the kitchen counter behind him, then grabs the tail of his tee and pulls it over his head also landing in the pile. Your breath hitches again and all you can focus on is how his muscles flexed and contorted as that shirt came off, until his arms come down to his sides and he stretches, moving his shoulders up and down and he leans his head back. That's when your notice the spray of freckles across his shoulders, more little imperfections making him more and more perfect. You have to look away or….

 

You pick up the wet washcloth and begin to clean the blood away. Three, maybe four, of the stitches in his arm are busted. You’re pretty sure you can suture them back up but you don’t have the supplies. Dean tells you it’s fine, that Sam can do it once he gets back to the motel, so you clean it up the best you can and bandage the area. You’ve avoided looking directly at him this entire time, but when you put the last piece of tape on his arm and go to move away he grabs your belt loop and pulls you back in. And just like every other time, he pulls you back in. 

 

He’s just staring at you, looking you over like he’s learning you, he has to remember every detail, and you look back, doing the same, feeling like you have to sear him to memory because one day he’ll be gone, and you can’t forget him. He reaches up and brushes your hair away from your forehead then grazes a thumb across your cheek. 

 

“May I?” He asks as he touches the thick frame of your glasses. 

 

You nod, so he pulls them from your face and turns to lay them on the counter behind him. You haven’t moved, except for that nod, and the unsteady rise and fall of your chest. 

 

He turns back to you and stares intently, you know, you know, where this is leading and he's asking permission. You bite your bottom lip and he exhales, holy shit he was holding his breath. He draws another one in, you swallow, never breaking eye contact, and he knows your answer. 

 

He drags you forward until you're tucked tightly between his legs, your chest against his, rising and falling opposite, always one pressing against the other. His hand, his large calloused hand, moves up your neck and brushes your cheek again before it tightens ever so slightly and pulls you forward until your lips meet. 

 

Just the thought of having him, all of him, is almost enough to bring you to your knees, literally, because they're so weak right now you don't know how your upright. That one soft kiss has you reeling, and you thank god when he stands and pulls you in for another. 

 

He lets his hands trace down your shirt until he reaches the seam, his fingers looping under it and sliding it over your head, tossing it behind him. He traces your skin with his lips until he reaches the crease of your neck. His teeth nip at you, you can't hold back the noises any longer, Nnnngggg! 

 

That's all he needs. That's all you need, and you decide to make that leap, the one that has haunted your dreams since he pressed you against your car. And you do it, you jump, a tiny little leap, wrapping your legs around his waist. And then he does it, reads your mind, he palms your ass, holding you up, then steps forward. He presses his entire body against yours as he kisses you. The wall against your back so cool against your hot skin. 

 

Tracing your hands down his back and running your fingers through his hair isn't enough anymore. He senses it to, reads such subtle changes like an open book, so he puts you on your feet, takes you by the hand and moves. 

 

Once you've made it to the bedroom he dips his head and kisses you again. You're moving backwards, following his lead, until the backs of you knees find the edge of the mattress. 

 

You sit and Dean crawls up beside you, peppering kisses over every inch of exposed skin. He makes eye contact and you have to know… 

 

You bit your lip shyly, “Dean.. W-What are we doing?” 

 

“Nothing you're not comfortable with sweetheart.”

 

“That's not what I meant...what are we doing?” 

 

Fuck, he's taking way too long to answer.


	6. The way we're movin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's porn people, just porn. There is no other way to summarize it.

‘What are we doing?’

 

The words bounce around the room, off of every surface, then hit Dean straight in the chest almost knocking the wind out of him. He hesitates. He knows he should speak, but he can't. This is a loaded question, one he wasn't prepared to answer. 

 

He has to answer. His voice is both soft and raspy as he forces words out. “I...you...we, we...uh, gah!” He kisses you, a soft peck and looks you directly in your eyes, searching for your answer. Like every other time he looks at you like this…

 

And just like that your question is answered. You don't need a cliché or a promise for tomorrow. This...this is something you'll only have with Dean, a feeling, a connection -one so wild, and fucked up, and unimaginable that there are no words to describe it, only long gazes, and soft touches, and... 

 

This time you lean up and kiss him, it's needy, and you don't care that he knows it, but when he kisses you back his is needy too. He can feel you down deep, burrowing into his bones, and at the same time that your flooding into him, he's flooding into you. 

 

He leaves your lips to lay open mouth kisses down your torso. He reaches your hips and tucks his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, as he thumbs the button he looks up at you, “May I?” 

 

He still makes you nervous, still gives you butterflies. You take a deep breath and nod, and he smiles at you, a wicked little grin. 

 

With a flick of his fingers your jeans are undone and he's sliding them down your legs, leaving you in a pair of pastel blue lace panties that match your bra perfectly. Dean’s still standing at the foot of the bed, eyes looking you over, taking you in inch by inch, but you need him closer, so you stand and crash your lips to his.

 

You drink each other in, feeling the heat that is consuming your bodies. Dean’s hands are everywhere, and yet you're still sort of surprised when his fingertips stop on the clasp of your bra, once again waiting to be granted permission. “Please,” you say, almost desperate for more. 

 

With a quick flip of his fingers your bra is unhooked and he's pulling it off your arms. He cups your breasts with both hands, gliding his thumbs over your nipples. You pull in a deep breath as chill bumps form over your entire body. Then he dips his head, sucking one of the hardened buds into his mouth. His fingers are still at your other nipple, mirroring his tongue's movements, and it's…just….”ggaahh!”

 

You don't want Dean to ask for permission this time so you push your panties down your hips, shimmy a little until they pool on the floor at your feet, then step out. He hasn't stopped lavishing attention to your breast but he knows exactly what you did because his free hand moves down the small of your back and across your ass where he grabs a handful and squeezes, “Mmmmm.”

 

You reach for him, your hands sliding down his torso, stopping at his belt. You suck in another deep breath, and your hands go to work. His lips find yours again and although it isn't as distracting as when they were on your breast, it definitely has you fumbling with the mechanics of his jeans. You finally find success with the button and zipper, so you push whatever fabric that stands between you and skin out of the way. 

 

He breaks the kiss just as his cock springs free and you just look, staring. He's toed off his jeans but you didn't notice, you're still deciding if this is a dream. But then you realize this time it isn't a dream -it's better than that. He's standing here, now gloriously naked, and you really feel like you should jump up and down cheering, or at least give him the round of applause he deserves for just looking like this. But of course you don't, you can't move, so you just continue to look with wide eyes and appreciation. 

 

Dean takes your hand in his and moves to the bed. You're still a little awestruck at this point so he climbs in first, crawling in on his knees and resting back on his haunches. You snap out of your...-what exactly do you call it when you go gaga over a naked man? Regardless, your mind is clear and you're focused on Dean. He's surprised when you walk up the edge of the bed, climbing in and lying down so he's knelt at your shoulder. 

 

Dean is surprised again when you roll slightly to your side, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock, then licking a long stripe to the tip. His eyes are widened in the beginning, falling shut momentarily as a menagerie of expletives are pushed out through gritted teeth. 

 

This time it's Dean asking for permission, using his eyes, locked with yours, to ask you if he can fuck your mouth. You only blink slowly, and lick your lips, giving him the unspoken yes he was needing. 

 

He pushes his hips forward and presses past your lips. The velvety head glides across the roof of your mouth to the back of your throat, ‘Uugghh!’ You savor the sweet but salty taste as your tongue traces the large vein on the underside of his cock, ‘Mmmmm’. He pulls back and you trace that vein again until the tip is at your lips, flicking it rapidly with your tongue before swirling completely around the head. 

 

You raise your chin, looking up at him through fluttering lashes. He's still watching you, and fuck it's sexy. Just that look in his eyes, almost black with lust, only a thin ring of green left around the outer edge. 

 

He reaches up with one hand and cards his fingers through your hair, when he gets to the ends he tangles it in his hand and presses into your skull, lightly, just enough to let you know he's enjoying this, as if the tiny sounds he's breathing out aren't any indication. He continues to move, pressing forward, pulling back. “Oommpphh.” Your eyes are watering by now but so is your mouth, and your pussy, you're enjoying this just as much as he is. You relax a little more and with the next push he slides deeper into your throat, “Oooaaah,” your lips coming closer to the base of his cock, close enough you feel a tickle on your nose from the tiny patch of hair residing there. And then he pulls away. 

 

He's panting, his chest is heaving, hell, his entire body is moving with each labored breath. He leans over and kisses you, and fuck he grazes his tongue across the roof of your mouth, just the same as he did his cock, before he circles yours. As he pulls away he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth. 

 

He's still on his knees at your side but he turns his upper body and dives his tongue between your folds. “Nnnggg,” strangled noises are escaping before you can even acknowledge them. He moves like an expert, long stripes from front to back, back to front, alternating between lapping up your juices and circling your clit. 

 

Damn, it's hot in here, your body is on fire, but it has been since the moment he touched you, hell, ever since the moment he looked at you back in the kitchen. He has a way of doing that, turning you on with just his presence, making you feel so sexy, so wanted. You're pretty sure he could make you come with just his eyes. Maybe one day you'll try that kink, but today you need to touch him, you need to taste him again. His cock is bobbing not far from your face, but at this angle it's just out of the reach of your lips. You need to move, just a couple of inches closer, so you start to squirm, only he presses his fingers into your thighs, holding you steady underneath him. As great as this is, -his tongue, it's near perfection- right now you're sorta obsessed with his cock, so you squirm again. It isn't a secret, Dean knows exactly what you want. He dips his tongue inside you then pulls up and circles your clit for a final time before letting go of your thighs and sitting up. 

 

He's still on his knees and he throws one leg over you, straddling your shoulders. Now it's right there, so easy to get to, and you lean forward just a bit to capture the dripping tip between your lips. This is what you wanted, the soft feel of him, the sweet/salty taste on your tongue. As Dean pushes forward you relax and let your head fall back, he follows, pushing into you farther. He's gliding in and out, so far in sometimes it's taking your breath, so far out you miss him, but he's never really gone. Your kneading your hands into that fine, firm ass. One finds its way forward, now pressing into the top of his muscular thigh, but only for a few seconds, there's something way more tempting, and it's close. You cup his balls just as he hits the back of your throat, ‘Uuuuuuh.’ Your breath hitches, breathing isn't an option at the moment because your nose is buried at the base of his cock, and to be honest the lack of air is making everything so much more intense. Then they tighten in your hand, before he swells and explodes he pulls away. “No, not yet - it's too soon.”

 

Dean kisses you fiercely then moves down your body kissing, and nipping, and sucking the entire way. He positions himself between your legs and you ready yourself for the onslaught of sensation that is certain to accompany his presence. Your hands are already fisted into the sheets and he’s only hovering over your mound, hands on each thigh pushing them apart. His breaths are still heavy and you feel each one wash over your wetness, sending a cool chill over your body. 

 

His tongue finally finds you, and it’s oh so intense. He doesn’t pull any punches, focuses directly on your clit, sending tiny shock waves through your system. Each time he feels you tense like you’re ready to explode he pulls away and grins up at you, you can’t always see the smile, but you can feel it, see it in his eyes. He knows he’s good at this, that he can keep you on the edge all fucking night if he sees fit, but he’s feeling empathetic so he slides one long digit between your folds, just as you begin to tense. 

 

There are flashes of white light clouding your vision, and your ears are ringing from the volume of your screams. You thrash under him, or try to at least, because he’s holding you steady, hands splayed across your thighs, prolonging your orgasm, milking you for everything you’ve got to give. 

 

He slowly works his way back up your body in the same manner that he worked his way down. You finally open your eyes just before he reaches your lips and he looks satisfied with himself, a new little sparkle hidden in his eyes between the glistening green and gold. He kisses you and your tongues fight for dominance, it’s the first time you’ve ever tasted yourself on a man’s lips, and it’s positively sinful. 

 

“Are you ready for me sweetheart?”

 

“Fuck yes,” you breathe out. 

 

Dean lines up and pushes into you painfully slow. You can't wait, you want all of him now, so you wrap your legs around his waist and buck your hips up into him. You feel too good for him to protest so he slams back into you, pulls out to the tip, presses forward again. Together you set a pace, pushing and pulling, pulling and pushing, fucking each other into oblivion. His hands and lips are everywhere, your nails are digging into his back, sweat drips from his chest landing between your breasts, running along the swell and over your ribcage. 

 

The sensations are out of control at this point, your nerve endings saturated, and you're not going to last much longer so you make a bold move and roll Dean to his back. Your on your knees, hands stretched across his chest, pussy stretched around his cock, he's kneading one breast in his hand, sucking on the other. You arch your back and he drops to his, grabs your hips, holds you steady when your rhythm starts to slip as you get closer to release. 

 

You manage to open your own eyes long enough to sneak a glimpse at Dean, his head is thrown back, eyes squeezed closed, mouth gaped open, steady stream of whispered shits and fucks falling from his kiss swollen lips. 

 

Knowing he's as close as you are is enough to push you over the edge, well, that and a simple shift in weight that put just the right amount of pressure on your clit. You're screaming his name, mixed with indiscernible expletives, he's pounding upwards into you, chasing his own orgasm, and then he finds it. The swell and release pushes against your fluttering walls, he shouts, digs his fingers into you where they gripped your hips, and you ride him through it as his body trembles under you. 

 

You finally slide to his side, not caring that your pussy and thighs are still slick, and nuzzle into the crook of his arm, head on his shoulder. Dean holds you tight, relishing the moment along with you. 

 

“You’re going to be the death of me.” Dean whispers as he runs his fingers over your bare shoulders.

 

“What makes you say that?” You prop yourself up on your elbow, looking him in the eyes. 

 

“This...this is why. You’re dangerous Y/N, and you don’t even realize it.” Dean leans up and kisses you, rolling you to your back, pinning your hands above your head as he begins to explore your body.


	7. All girls wanna be like that

The Blonde Bear was a speakeasy in the heart of Memphis. It's reputation definitely preceding itself, people traveling several hundred miles to visit for just one night, wanting to be transported back in time, or to at least feel like it once behind their doors. This, this, is why the suit the demon was wearing had caught your eye, leading you to the city. 

 

Dean and Sam had given you your crash course in the supernatural during the two hour drive, both also insistent that you get an anti-possession tattoo. You finally relented, finding a hole in the wall joint just off of I-40, having a small version placed on your right hip. 

 

It wasn't until you had gotten checked into your cushy hotel, the one you won during bargaining for the tattoo, that you finally came clean about your hunch regarding the nightclub. 

 

“Look, I know you think I'm just chasin’ my tail here, but the ‘meat suit’...that’s what you called it, right? His outfit was... distinctive, and he was from Bartlett which isn't far from here at all.”

 

“Maybe you are onto somethin’.” Dean flops down onto the edge of the king sized bed, kicking his boots off. 

 

“I'm going to go look this place up, I think we should also see if there's been any similar deaths in this area.” Sam's already got his phone out, scrolling through as he's talking. 

 

“Alright, fed suits, meet you in the hall in twenty.” Dean stands, already starting to remove layers before Sam even gets the door closed behind himself. 

 

You took his place on the foot of the bed, the sight of him undressing enough to make a dampness form in your panties. You cross your legs, feeling a glorious soreness between them from last night’s extra curricular activities. Even with his back turned, Dean knows what's happening to you, it's like the man just senses it, like he can fucking smell it on you. 

 

He's in only his boxer briefs when he turns around, saunters over to you, presses his lips to yours and kisses you until you're breathless. He's straddling you, his fingers in your hair, angling your head just right, his other hand tracing small circles across your collarbone. 

 

Then he's gone, back across the room, tugging on his suit pants. You gather your composure, finally, “So, about this club?”

 

“I thought we'd all check it out tonight when they open, just take a look around.” You watch as he criss crosses his tie into the perfect knot, and pulls his suit jacket on. 

 

“Maybe easier said than done. I hear you can’t get in unless you’re on the list.”

 

“Oh, we’ll get in, don’t worry about that. Now, just rest until Sam and I get back, might be a late night, we won’t be too long.” He presses his lips to yours again. “Don't get into any trouble, k?” 

 

“I could say the same to you.” You grin as he kisses you one last time before he leaves to meet Sam. You watch from your 6th story window as the Impala pulls onto the street and out of sight. 

 

Once you're sure they're gone you grab your purse and head for the elevator. Hailing a cab just outside the hotel, you give the driver the address to The Blonde Bear and nervously chew your bottom lip as you sit back for the ride. 

 

********************

You’re on your tiptoes, balancing on a stack of boxes in the alley, trying to catch a peek through the back window, there’s movement, but all you can make out are shadows. You’re about to give up, climb down, sulk back to the hotel and admit defeat, even if only to yourself, when you hear footsteps. You turn, deciding quickly to make a run for it but the box you’re standing on gives way and you plummet to the ground, landing flat on your ass. 

 

‘What the hell you think you’re a doin’.” He’s towering over you now, tall broad shoulders, older with salt and pepper hair and a crisp clean suit. 

 

Think, think…. “I….um…saw the help wanted sign ‘round front, wanted to apply.” You stand and dust yourself off. 

 

“Well, why didn’t ya just knock, come on in.” He unlocks the back door, holds it open, then locks it behind you. 

 

******************************

Thirty minutes later you’re shooting Dean a text. ‘Allman and Betts are on the list. Get ready to play dress up, head over to a place called High Hat on 3rd and find you a more appropriate suit. I’ll meet you at the club bout nine.’ Dean’s cursing you, more so in his head than out loud because Sam’s already scolded him for being hard on you.

 

’What the actual fuck Y/N? I asked you not to get into any trouble.’

 

‘I’m not in any trouble doll, time to stop bein’ such a flat tire and play along. See you at nine.’ 

 

‘Doll?’

‘Flat tire?’

 

‘Don't ruin it Winchester! Xoxo’ 

 

It had been three hours since Dean had heard from you, despite the numerous texts he’d sent. He’s angrily buttoning the cuffs of his new shirt, waiting for Sam to come out of the dressing room. He figures he’ll text you one more time, if you don’t answer he’s goin’ in guns blazing. ‘I’m worried, if nothing else please let me know you’re ok.’

 

That’s the one that got you. You had to come clean, at least a little. ‘I’m fine, I got a job at the club, that’s all.’

 

‘Seriously?’

 

‘Seriously, how you think I got you on the list? Those spots are coveted you know.’

 

‘I was just gunna break in.’

 

‘And get us thrown out.’

 

‘Maybe not.’

 

‘Just trust me.’

 

‘Fine! see you soon. You better not be dead or I’ll kill you.’

 

‘Wouldn’t expect any less:)’

 

Sam comes out of the dressing room looking just as debonair as Dean. “Was that Y/N?”

 

“Yea, said she got a job at the bar. Seem a little weird to you?” They're both standing at full length mirrors, straightening their suits, taking a good look at themselves. 

 

“Actually, no. Seems like a great way to find out what’s happening behind the scenes. She’s smart Dean, you should trust her.”

 

“I trust her Sammy, just not the situation she’s puttin’ herself in.”

*****************************

 

It’s twenty ‘til nine and there’s a line around the block. Sam and Dean both quickly realize why Y/N sent them for new suits, everyone is dressed like they stepped out of a time machine from the 1940’s. There’s two broads arguing with the doorman, as he’s ushering them away. The boys step onto the sidewalk, just in front of the velvet rope, and give his counterpart the names Allman and Betts. As he checks the names off of the list he looks at them curiously, like maybe they look familiar, so they both tuck their heads a little, and tip their hats to him as he moves aside to let them enter. 

 

This place is the cat’s meow, slammed packed, busy, bustling with noise, laughter, clinking of glasses. They make their way to the bar, just as they approach two stools come open on the end, so they sit. Dean looks around nervously, searching for you, certain you're waiting a table and will swing by the bar soon. 

 

“What’ll ya have fella?” The bartender asks. Dean is still looking around so Sam orders two doubles on the rocks, hands him a credit card to start a tab. 

 

“I don't like this Sammy, I don't like it at all.” Dean grinds out. 

 

“Man will you just relax, we haven't even been here five minutes.” Sam slides one of the glasses to Dean, and picks the other one up for himself. 

 

Dean’s antsy. He's finished his drink, smooth as silk, but the edge is still sharp, hasn't been cut at all by the whiskey, and this isn't the cheap shit he's used to, this is top shelf, expensive as fuck. He raises a finger, motioning to the bartender for another round. As he's pouring Dean begins to grill him. 

 

“Hey man, you seen Y/N?” The bartender shakes his head no. “Today’s her first day, glasses, Y/H/C hair.” 

 

“No, no dames workin’ here with glasses.”

 

Dean’s quickly losing patience. “Where's your boss.” He growls. 

 

“Ah, the big cheese? He's up there playin’ the piano, he'll be done in a few, last set for a while.” He nods towards the stage, Dean quickly glances over his shoulder, seeing a dapper looking middle aged man tickling the ivories of a baby grand. 

 

Dean stands and turns back to the bartender, dragging him up on tiptoes by his jacket lapels. “I don't have time for this, tell me where Y/N is!” 

 

All this time Sam's been quiet, taking in his surroundings. He's been observant, noticed the waitress with the dark hair and curls is skimming a little off the top, the bouncer in the corner making googly eyes at the doorman, and him sneaking them back, he's been scanning the crowd for you, but nothing prepared him for this. 

 

The piano started to play a smooth intoxicating tune, drawing Sam's attention and he was frozen, almost choked on the sip he'd just pulled from his glass, barely managing to raise his arm enough to lay a single hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeeze. 

 

Dean gave Sam a quick glance, who raised his chin motioning towards the stage. Dean shot a quick eye that direction, turned back to the man in his grasp then did a double take. 

 

'Don't need permission 

Made my decision to test my limits

‘Cause it's my business, God as my witness'

 

Dean let go of the bartender slowly, smoothing down the front of his jacket for him with the palms of his hands and turning to face the stage. 

 

'Start what I finished

Don't need no hold up

Taking control of this kind of moment'

 

Dean’s mouth was gapped open, chin slung forward, eyes wide. You made eye contact and grinned, knowing this isn't at all what he expected. 

 

You're wearing a full length silver gown, cut almost to your navel, ruched around your waist and hips, with a faux fur bolero at the shoulders. Your hair sits framing your face in loose curls, you're not wearing your glasses, and you've fully done your makeup complete with red lipstick. 

 

'I'm locked and loaded'

you pat your hip where your holster sits while in uniform. 

 

'Completely focused, my mind is open'

You grab the square metal microphone with one hand, closing your eyes and swaying your hips. 

 

'All that ya got, skin to skin, oh my god

Don't ya stop boy

Somethin’ ‘bout you makes me feel like a

Dangerous woman

Somethin’ ‘bout, somethin’ ‘bout, somethin’ ‘bout you

Makes me wanna do things that I shouldn't' 

 

Your eyes find Dean’s. He's picked up his glass of whiskey, and tried to compose himself, but it's obvious he's flustered. His cheeks are a little flushed, and when he tries to act all smooth and lean back against the bar he stumbles. 

 

'Nothing to prove and i’m bulletproof and

Know what i’m doin’

The way we’re movin’ like introducing

Us to a new thing

I wanna savor, save it for later

The taste of flavor, ‘cause I’m a taker

‘Cause I’m a giver, it’s only nature

I live for danger'

 

Dean tries to play off the fact that he just faltered, looks up at you with a shy grin, and you know you've got him. 

 

'All that ya got, skin to skin, oh my god

Don't ya stop boy'

 

You're still looking directly at Dean when you run both hands over your breasts and down your body as you continue to sway your hips. Dean stumbles again, but finds his stool and sits. 

 

'Somethin’ ‘bout you makes me feel like a

Dangerous woman

Somethin’ ‘bout, somethin’ ‘bout, somethin’ ‘bout you

Makes me wanna do things that I shouldn't. 

All girls wanna be like that

Bad girls underneath like that

You know how I’m feelin’ inside

Somethin’ ‘bout, somethin’ ‘bout

 

Somethin’ ‘bout you makes me feel like a

Dangerous woman

Somethin’ ‘bout, somethin’ ‘bout, somethin’ ‘bout you

Makes me wanna do things that I shouldn't'

 

Dean’s eyes are glued to you, he's damn near salivating. You bring it home by pointing directly at him as you belt 

 

'Somethin’ ‘bout you'

 

You take a bow and exit through the red velvet curtains. Sam and Dean both meet you backstage. You're still trying to catch your breath after the performance. 

 

“Holy shit Y/N, I had no idea you were a singer.” Sam says as he pulls you into a small hug.

 

“Church choir when I was little, that's all.” You blush. 

 

“Well that was great. Hey, uh, you find anything today?” 

 

“Just overheard the piano player tellin’ the doormen and the bartender that he needed 10 contracts by the end of the night, no idea what it means though.” 

 

“I have a pretty good idea.” Sam says “We on the same page here Dean?” 

 

“Yea,” Dean squawks out, he's been speechless until now, basically just staring at you. “You go have a look around, Y/N looks like she could use some fresh air. 

 

“Ok, meet you guys back here then.” 

 

“Yea.” Dean takes your hand and guides you towards the back door and out into the alley. 

 

You definitely needed to cool off, and the night air felt amazing on your overheated skin. Before you can react to the relief Dean’s lips are crashing into yours. All of the buildup from the day coming to a head, all of the worry, all of the waiting, and then seeing you up on the stage like that, well, it was more than he could handle. 

 

He presses you against the cool brick wall, and your breath hitches, he leaves your mouth only to ravish your neck and collarbone. His hands travel up your sides dipping into the deep v at the front of your dress to find your naked breasts, nipples already hardened from the cool night air. He had stared at the swell of them, the rest just barely concealed behind the satin, for what seemed like an eternity while you were on that stage, dying to lavish them with attention. He dipped his head and did just that, grazing his teeth across your nipple before sucking the hardened bud into his mouth. 

 

You arched into him, let your head fall back ,and nestled your thigh between his legs, where you felt his hard length straining at the front of his pants. You fumbled with his belt, finally getting it undone and your hand down the front of his boxers. 

 

Dean let out a guttural moan, sending shockwaves straight to your core. His lips found yours again as his hands worked quickly to gather up your long dress. He hooked one hand behind your knee, pulling it up to his side, and when his fingers grazed up the inside of your thigh he was pleasantly surprised to find there wasn't even a thin strip of lace separating him from your dripping center. “Mmmm, you are a bad girl aren't you?” 

 

“Ah, you have no idea.” your groans were stifled by his lips as he pushed one long finger inside of you. 

 

You were ready to feel him inside you, didn't give a shit about the burn of the stretch, you just needed it. You raked your high heel down his leg, pulling his trousers down with it, as you used your hands to push his boxers down only far enough to release him from their confines. 

 

Your eyes met, the connection between you guiding your motions. Dean put a hand on the back of each thigh and lifted you into the air. He brought you up high enough that you glided down easily onto his cock. He pushed you tighter against the wall as he pounded into you, both of you chasing your release. 

 

The sheer spontaneity of it all, coupled with Dean pressing into your g-spot with every stroke had you trembling underneath him. “Dean, I'm gu-….”

 

He cut you off, “I know sweetheart, cum on my cock, wanna feel you.” 

 

Just like that you let go. Your head falls back as you ride the waves of ecstasy. 

 

“Look at me baby, open your eyes and look at me.”

 

Again you respond to his request. When you look into his eyes you feel something, you feel the aftershocks coursing through your body, you feel the burn in the backs of your thighs from Dean's fingers digging in as he holds you steady, you feel his hard cock dragging in and out of you, you feel a bead of sweat trickle down your chest, but there's something else. 

 

Your walls pulsing around him milks Dean of his own orgasm, his eyes squeeze shut and his mouth falls open. “Look at me Dean,” you whisper. His eyes shoot open and he clenches his jaw shut. Your eyes meet his and despite being pressed against a wall in a dirty fucking alleyway it’s the most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced. 

 

“Dean!” The back door flies open and Sam steps into the alley. “Jesus guys,” he turns on his heels facing away from you, “can't wait five minutes huh?”

 

“You got somethin’?” Dean asks as he lowers you to the ground. 

 

“Uh, yea. It's definitely a crossroads demon, just not sure how many are in there.” Sam’s staring off into the night sky. 

 

You both quickly compose yourselves, following Sam back inside. Dean escorts you to your dressing room. “Y/N, I want you to stay here, don't come out unless Sam or I come get you.” Dean rifles through the makeup strewn about the vanity. He picks up your tube of red lipstick, drags the chair to the middle of the room. 

 

“I can help.” You're barely paying attention until he starts smearing the lipstick on the ceiling above his head. 

 

“You can help by staying put so I know you're safe.” He's drawing a pentagram, some strange symbols around it. 

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

“Devil’s trap, anything comes in here get ‘em inside this circle.” He climbs out of the chair. “Understand?” You nod and he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead then disappears down the hall behind his brother. 

 

Probably ten minutes goes by, and it's quiet, too quiet, so you take a step out into the hallway to investigate. You round the corner, running straight into the boss. 

 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? You're the one who put those fellas on tha list.” He takes a step forward. 

 

You stepped back, didn't speak, only looked at him with wide eyes. 

 

“Well, I don't take to kindly to dames bein’ in cahoots with hunters.” He takes another step forward. 

 

You back slowly into your dressing room. 

 

He lunges forward, eyes flashing red, and wraps one hand around your neck, lifting your feet off the floor. 

 

You kick and try to scream, but nothing is coming out. Your vision is just beginning to fade to black when you hear Dean’s voice yelling profanities. The man drops you to the floor, “I'll take care of you later,” and you scoot away, digging your heels into the plush red carpet. 

 

Sam and Dean appear in the doorway, led at gunpoint by two men with black eyes. ‘The boss’ turns to walk towards them, takes a step, picks up his foot to take a second but it's like he hits an invisible wall. 

 

Another man materializes beside you, he's sharply dressed in a stylish expensive suit and a black overcoat. “Hello Darling,” he says in a smooth English accent pulling a hand from his pocket, with one flick of his wrist black smoke is pouring out of Sam and Dean’s captors, letting their bodies fall to the floor. 

 

He rolls his eyes, “Minions,” he scoffs, then turns to you, “and who is this pretty young thing? She belong to you Moose?” 

 

“I don't belong to anyone!” You struggle to your feet, pissed that anyone would assume that you are property. 

 

“Darling, they're the Winchesters, no one is immune to their sex appeal. If one of them hasn't bedded you already…”

 

“Alright Crowley, that's enough.” Dean steps forward. 

 

“Ahhh, relax Squirrell, I'm not one for sloppy seconds. Let's move on to the elephant in the room, shall we?” He looks at ‘the boss’ who's still trapped, a worried look replacing his normal smug demeanor. “Balaam, a little birdy told me that since my little incident with Lucifer you've been ignoring my rules, making deals at alarming rates. I've also been informed that you perhaps have been gathering minions, planning to overthrow...ME!”

 

“No, sir. No, sir. Maybe I got a little carried away with the terms and conditions of the contracts, but...no sir,...no... plans to overthrow you.” The last bit Balaam stutters out, falling to his knees, begging.

 

“Sorry boys, but I’ve got a special treat planned for our pal here. Toodle Loo.” Crowley snaps his fingers and they’re both gone. 

 

“What...who the hell was that?” your crash course hadn’t covered red eyes and snappy fingers. 

“The bloody king of hell,” Dean says mocking Crowley’s accent.


	8. Don't need no holdup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt is over, so what now?

Case closed. Your first big case, solved, and you can’t tell a soul.  
***Two days later:  
You’re curled up on the couch, head in Dean’s lap, eyes barely managing to stay open as he runs his fingers through your hair. Star Wars was never your kind of movie but it was Dean’s turn to pick so you use the opportunity to just be close to him.   
Sam’s sitting at the kitchen table, nose buried in his laptop as usual, searching for their next case. Every single time he’s opened his mouth for the last 48 hours you cringe, knowing these moments are fleeting, he will find a case, and Dean will leave.   
What do you say to protest? Nothing, there’s nothing to say. This has been nice, eye opening, to say the least, but where is it going? He has a responsibility to hunt things, save people, carry on the family business, and apparently save the world, again, because there’s always a threat. He hasn’t needed to say this to you, you’ve gathered all the information you need from the many alcohol induced stories they’ve told you.   
Sam clears his throat, you tense, eyes flying open. “I think I found us a case Dean.”   
Fuck, fuck, fuckedy, fuck! Dean stops carding his fingers through your hair, shifts under you, puts his arm up on the back of the couch, and turns a little to face his brother, “Yea, where?”  
“Bixby, Oklahoma. Several missing persons in the last week.”  
You sit up, turn to Sam as well and he gives you a sympathetic look. It honestly makes your stomach churn, unsure if it’s because they’ll be leaving, or if it’s because Sam might feel sorry for you.   
“Get a good night’s rest? Leave in the morning?” Dean says, wrapping you in his arms, pulling you into him.   
**************************************  
Dean’s standing at the foot of your bed, stuffing flannels into an already bulging duffle bag. You’re sitting in the middle, legs crossed indian style, studying him intently, trying to sear every single part of him to memory. You figure you’re going to need this memory, hold on to it for dear life, because it’s the only thing he’s not going to shove in that goddamn duffle and take with him.   
He pulls the sides of the bag together, slides the zipper closed. “That everything?” you ask. Please say no.   
“That's it.” He shrugs on his green jacket, throws the bag over his shoulder, holds out his hand to help you off the bed.   
You walk him to the front door, hug Sam goodbye, wish him well. He takes Dean’s bag, along with his, heads downstairs to give the two of you a moment alone.   
Dean inhales sharply, blows it out slowly, shrugs his shoulders. “So…”  
“So…” You look at your feet, afraid to look him in the eye, it's too dangerous.   
“Maybe I can come visit, I'm sure we’ll be passin’ through.”  
“Yea...yea… That sounds good.”  
“Ok then, I'll...uh...call then.”  
“K.”  
He leans in and you still can't look at him. He cups your jaw in his hand, kisses your cheek, traces his thumb over it, before pulling away slowly.   
And just like that he's gone, just like that you're gone, everything you've become, everything you wanted to be, walked out that door with him. You have no other choice, so you press your back to the door, slide down to the floor, and cry.

****6 days later:.   
You're sitting in your patrol car, running the license and registration of an old Ford pickup with a busted taillight when you get a text. Your heart flutters, skips a beat or two, as you open it.   
‘Hey sweetheart.’  
‘Hey handsome.’  
‘Busy?’  
‘Not at all, what's up?’  
‘Just finished up the case in Bixby, can be there in 8 hours.’  
‘You sure about that?’  
‘Six and a half if Sam will shut up about my driving.’  
‘Not what I meant Dean.’  
‘I'm sure, you sure?’  
‘:) see you soon.’  
You unlock the door just after 2 am, letting Dean into your apartment. You look behind him into the empty hallway. “Where's Sam?”   
“Motel.” He closes the door behind you as you step back inside, pulls you in for a kiss, a deep, wet, hot, Dean kiss. One that always leaves your panties wet and your pussy tingling with anticipation.   
When your alarm goes off 8 am, you wake up naked and wrapped in Dean, his arm is over your torso, your legs tangled together, most of your hair is covering his face, his warm breath in the crook of your neck. With your free hand you gather your hair, twist it and pull it to the other side of the pillow. When Dean feels you shift he pulls you tighter, mumbles a sleepy ‘not yet’ into your shoulder as he nuzzles closer. You’re still exhausted from the previous night’s activities, muscles burning and sore from the various positions he contorted the two of you into.   
“I've gotta work today.” You say yawning, wiggling your way out from under him, starting to dress. “Will you be here when I get back?”   
“Just passin’ through.”   
“Oh..ok.” Maybe the toothbrush in your mouth hid a bit of the disappointment in your voice.   
“Call you next time I'm close.”   
“Yea,” you kiss him quickly, not wanting to be pulled back in again. “Lock up when you leave, will you?” 

****14 days later:   
The clock says 5:08 am, and someone is knocking on your door. You assume it's the bat shit crazy lady from 4C wanting you to come and investigate because she thinks the government has sent another drone to ‘watch her.’ You roll your eyes at the thought, grab your glasses from the night stand, stumble through the living room, still trying to pull on a pair of sweats while you walk.   
You're met with crazy alright, just not what you had expected. Dean is standing at your door, flannel and jeans both covered in blood. Before you can say a word, before he says a word, he just steps inside, grabs your face with both bloody hands, and kisses you like it's the only thing that's been on his mind for the past two weeks.   
“You ok? Any of this yours?”   
“No...well, maybe a little...vamp nest.” he answers, pulling you back into him.  
You wrap your fingers in the front of his tee, scared as hell to see him like this, scared as hell that you’re scared as hell. You don’t have time to process the feeling, Dean’s already pulling his flannel down his arms.  
“Oh, no you don’t. Bathroom mister. I don’t need my living room lookin’ like a crime scene.”  
“Yes ma’am.” he takes your hand, leading the way.   
You start the water while Dean rids himself of all his clothes, leaving them a crumpled mess on the floor. He pulls you back into him, hands trace down your torso to the hem of your tank, and you raise your arms so he can pull it over your head. He brushes your hair over your shoulder, lays open mouthed kisses down the back of your neck, across your shoulder blade as he pushes your sweats off your hips. You step forward, into the back of the shower, allowing Dean to step in under the hot water.   
It cascades down his body, the muscles in his back and arms flexing as he raises them to run his fingers through his hair. You’ve already filled your hands with soap, so you begin to trace those muscles with your palms, maybe more for your benefit than for his. Your hands start at his waist, gliding upward along each side of his spine, you dig your thumbs in, massaging as you go. He sighs, maybe more of a groan, as the tension starts to finally release. You reach his upper back, giving it the same treatment, massaging small groups of muscles at a time.   
While you’re getting another squirt of body wash Dean turns to face you. You knead your newly slick hands into his biceps, along his pecs, all while he watches you intently. You smooth your hands over his abs and waist, when you dip to his hips he stops you, pulls your hand away.   
He touches your face where there’s a faint outline of his hand in dried blood, “We need to get you cleaned up too.”   
You nod, scrub the sides of your face with your already soapy hands, do a little do-si-do with Dean ‘til you're the one that's under the water. You reach for the shampoo, but he's picked it up first. “Let me,” he says adding a generous amount to his palm. He nudges you to turn around, spreads the shampoo around in both hands, runs one across your scalp, gathers your hair at the nape of your neck with the other, sliding it through his hand to the ends. Then he goes to work, lathering, massaging your scalp, lightly pulling your hair, and Jesus does it feel amazing.   
You let your eyes fall closed and you’re almost dizzy at this point, leaning forward, putting both palms flush on the shower wall to hold yourself up. Dean steps closer to you, pressing himself into your back, his erection hard against your ass. One soapy hand comes forward to knead your breast, the other dips between you to to guide his hard cock through your folds. He doesn’t enter you, just glides back and forth teasing your clit and your dripping center.   
You spread your legs wider, hoping he’ll take the hint and just fuck up into you already, but he continues his torture. You let your head fall back, the water washing over you, suds pouring between your bodies. Your core is on fire as you feel yourself inching closer to release with each push, with each pull. “D...D...Dean” you moan out.   
“Let go baby, I got you.” His teeth are gritted and his voice is strained.   
He's heard your unspoken request all along, but he has been waiting for just the right moment. Now it's here so he pulls back through your slick, and when he presses forward again he repositions his hips and slides into you. At the same time he moves his hand from your breast to your clit.   
The sudden fullness, the new sensations on your burning hot pussy is enough to shove you right over the edge. Your eyes clamp shut, your body trembles, you pussy clenches onto Dean as he continues to press into you.   
He pulls out, falling apart with you, shooting his hot cum across your back and down your ass. You lean forward a little more, letting the water rush between you. Before you can fully recover Dean has his hands full of body wash, cleaning you up.   
His hands move south, through your folds, sending a second shock wave through your body as they find your still engorged and still very sensitive clit. Before you have a chance to protest even a little you’re cuming again, light bursting behind your eyes as your body trembles, Dean half holding you up as he works you through the aftershocks.   
When he’s sure your legs can hold you he moves out of the shower, passing you a towel of your own as he runs his over his head and down his body. Once you’re both dry and settled Dean curls against your back, breath heavy on your skin, and you both drift off to a blissful sleep.   
Your alarm goes off at 8 am like always, sun peeking in through the curtains. You’re relaxed at first, until you realize you’re alone, then a sinking feeling rushes through your gut, and you're not sure how much longer you can keep this up.   
You don't want to lose Dean, you don't want to hide the way you feel about him, but late night booty calls is not what you had in mind, especially when he shows up unannounced and bloody. It's only a matter of time before a neighbor spots him and starts to ask questions, before his cases move further and further away from Tennessee, before you drift apart all together. You begin to wonder if you should cut your losses, chalk it up to bad timing, or if you should relish the small but fleeting moments he gives you.


	9. Test my limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader is upset about the current situation with Dean.

Test My Limits: 

You thought once, not too long ago, that you didn’t need any promises from Dean. Then, all you needed, wanted, was him. That part hasn’t changed, you still want Dean, only now you find yourself needing more. You understand his job, how important he is in the grand scheme of things, so you know waking up with him each morning is completely out of the question, but a girl can still dream. However, you do know that it’s perfectly feasible to think that he could, possibly, say a few words to let you know that even though he leaves, the plan is to always come back to you. That thought would rely heavily on Dean having the same feelings for you as you do for him, maybe, just maybe….

Twenty two days come and go without a word from him. You can’t help but worry, worry about his safety, worry that the last time he showed up at your door would truly be the last time. You’ve managed to spend several nights alone, curled on the couch with a pint of Haagen Daz’s and a netflix marathon of Friends. You’ve also cried yourself to sleep once or twice, and thought about the situation until you made yourself literally sick to your stomach. You wonder where the strong person went, dangerous as Dean called you, and finally conclude that she’s broken. 

The best way to deal with this is to just move on, engulf yourself in work, maybe a little play, and if he so happens to grace you with his presence again, well, you’ll decide then whether you’re strong enough to send him away, or better yet, to emotionally detach yourself and enjoy what he has to offer at the time he’s offering it

On the evening of the twenty third day you get to make that decision. It’s still daylight, evening sun still peeking over the horizon, you’re in your kitchen, close enough to the window to actually hear the Impala, before you actually see her, as she roars into the parking lot. Your heart stops, falls into the deepest pit of your stomach, it sputters, tries to recover, missing a few beats as it begins pounding again. You’re ecstatic, panicked, all at the same time, and when the knock comes at the door you freeze. 

Three deep breaths, in and out, as you work up the nerve just to reach for the door knob. Three more before you finally turn it. Dean doesn’t look up, not yet, he’s shuffling his feet, looking as though he’s searching for his own words. You wait, making it all the more awkward. He glances at you, tongue darting out to lick his lips, as he rubs his palm across the back of his neck. You can’t take it anymore, flinging yourself into the hallway and into his arms. 

He still doesn’t speak, just looks down at you, looking into your eyes, possibly all the way to your soul. His fingertips graze your cheek and his lips capture yours. Tonight there will be no protesting, no detachment. Tonight Dean will make you his, over and over again, you will scream his name, claw at the sheets, leave scratch marks up and down his back, and purple bruises along his collarbone. He will do the same, curl his toes, leave fingertip shaped bruises along both hips, and call your name almost religiously as he comes apart. 

The morning, however, the morning will be the same. You will wake up, sore and alone, and defeated by your emotions.


	10. Made My Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Y/N have a misunderstanding of sorts. Things may have a way of working themselves out.

Made My Decision: 

 

Twenty four days ago, somewhere in Mississippi…..

 

Sam and Dean had finally found out where the nest was holed up, took ‘em damn near two weeks, but they had managed to run across a solid lead. Dean was the first one in, Sam right behind him. Immediately his eyes found her, the vamp latched onto her neck, she was already slumped into his arms. Her hair was Y/H/C, maybe a little shorter than yours, she was wearing jeans, a solid tee, and had dark rimmed glasses, the resemblance uncanny. 

 

The vamp let go, her lifeless body falling to the floor. He charged Dean, teeth bared, almost growling as he lunged forward. Less than five seconds was all it took for Dean to put him down, one precise swing of the machete, then he was by her side. His fingers grazed across her neck, opposite the bite, to feel for a pulse -nothing.

 

There was a ferocity in Dean, one he hadn’t experienced since the mark. He picked up the machete, rose from his knees, and went to work. He sliced through spinal cords like hot butter, heads rolling in every direction. He only stopped swinging when Sam was the only other person, or thing, left alive in the entire house. 

 

A blood soaked Dean tossed the machete into Baby’s trunk, Sam placing his weapon in alongside then pulling his long legs into the passenger seat. Dean was silent the entire way back, just white knuckling the steering wheel, trying his best not to break any further. When they pulled up in front of the motel room door he didn’t kill her engine, didn’t bother to put her in park. Sam was already out of the car, door closed behind him before he noticed. 

 

Sam leaned in the open window, “Dean?” he asks, concerned about his big brother. 

 

“Just goin’ for a drive Sammy, don’t wait up.” His expression was flat, never looking at Sam, only turning around when he raised the shifter to reverse and backed out of the parking spot. 

 

Tires squealed on the pavement when Dean let out of the lot and onto the main highway. Sam stood and watched him go, hoping he was still himself enough to get to where he was going in one piece -it was a long drive to Tennessee. 

 

************************************

Now...

 

After waking up alone yet again you lay awake contemplating your next move, wondering if the toxicity was really worth it. You roll over to grab your glasses from the nightstand and you can still smell Dean on the pillow, his unique musk invading your senses, making you long for him even more. 

 

Something comes over you and you grab the phone, along with your glasses. You sit up and thumb out a text to Dean, you have to get it out before you lose your nerve to say it. Your thumb hovers over the send button, finally squeezing your eyes shut as you press down on the screen. Good, now he knows how you really feel. 

 

You climb into the shower hoping that the hot water will at the very least help soothe your aching muscles. 

 

****

 

Sam slides into a booth in the diner, Dean opposite him. He studies his brother, knowing full well that this was unlike him, but planning to go along nonetheless without a word of teasing or ridicule. 

 

They order coffee to sip while they're waiting, converse about the upcoming hunt. Sam shares his lead, and all of the info he could manage to dig up on the property in question and its former inhabitants. Dean pretends to listen, but in truth he's replaying scenes from last night with you. 

 

His mind drifts to how sexy you were, looking up at him through hooded eyes, lips stretched around his cock, saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth as you pulled up then pushed back down. How he can so easily coerce the sexiest fucking noises from you just by sucking on that little spot just below your collarbone, how you dig your nails in and arch your back while he’s between your legs. The thoughts alone enough to make his dick tingle and Dean couldn't wait to get back to you again. 

 

Finally, the waitress shows with their food. Dean grabs the to go bag and pays the check on his way out to the car. The music is up, he’s singing along, rhythmically strumming his fingers on the wheel. He hasn’t felt this good in...forever, really. When he pulls into the lot he turns the radio down and finds a spot close to the back door, then grabs the bag from the passenger seat and heads upstairs. He reaches for the doorknob and turns, realizing quickly that he’s locked himself out, so he rings the doorbell and waits. 

 

He’s planning to call, ask to be let in, so Dean fishes his cell from his jacket pocket, noticing he had missed a text notification from you. 

 

‘I can’t do this anymore, it’s just not working out.’ 

 

Dean feels like he's been hit by a fast moving train, torn apart at the seams. He sits the takeout boxes at your door, shoves his hands deep in his pockets, tucks his head and leaves. The drive back to Mel’s is silent.

 

Sam’s still in the booth, oblivious of Deans return until he once again slides in across from him. Sam narrows his eyes, “I thought you were spending the day at Y/N’s.”

 

“Yea, well this case is important, can't just put it off.” Dean scoffs. ‘You ready?’

 

“Sure man. Did you even have time to eat?”

 

“Naaa, not hungry.”

 

Sam pulls out his phone and starts typing. 

 

“What are you doing? Let's go.” Dean’s already standing, staring down at Sam impatiently. 

 

“Marking this day on the calendar. It’ll go down in history as the day Dean Winchester wasn't hungry.”

 

“Ha ha ha. Very funny, asshole. Now let's get the hell out of this god forsaken town...for good.” Dean trailed off a bit during the last part, regardless Sam picked up on the not so subtle undertones. 

 

After gathering Sam’s things from the motel they both climbed back into the Impala and headed out. When Dean pulled to the edge of the parking lot he stopped, looked both ways, then looked at Sam.

 

“You have no idea where we’re going do you?” Dean just glared at him and grunted. “I knew you weren’t payin’ any attention earlier. So, why exactly are we leaving Dean? This salt and burn isn’t that big a deal.”

 

“Which way?” Dean ground out, unamused with his brother's prying questions. 

 

“Left...Missouri.” Sam took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna have to tell me ya know?”

 

Dean twisted his hands around the steering wheel as he made the left hand turn, “No Sam, I don’t.” 

 

He reached over and shoved a mix tape into the deck, cranked the volume, and ignored Sam, completely lost in his own thoughts for the rest of the drive. 

 

*********************

You climb in the shower relishing the feeling of the warm water on your aching muscles. Just as you put the shampoo in your hair you hear the sound of the doorbell. Perfect timing. You figure it’s probably the mailman dropping the package you’ve been expecting for a week now, so you ignore it, continue to lather and massage your scalp, trying to relieve some of the tension the morning has brought. Once you feel like you’ve pampered yourself enough you throw on your robe and make your way to the front door to retrieve your mail. 

 

In the floor sits a large brown paper bag, top folded down, this definitely isn’t your package. You bring it inside to the kitchen island and cautiously open it. Inside is three styrofoam containers, the first full of bacon and eggs. The second, pancakes, and the third, two pieces of pecan pie. Fuck! 

 

You pace the floor and chew on your fingernails. You go over the scenario a thousand times in your head. This was not at all how you had envisioned things going. You thumb out a few texts to Dean, erasing each one without sending them, either because you keep going back and forth between not being able to find the right words, or because it’s perhaps better to leave things the way they are. You definitely regret saying what you did earlier, but you doubt there would be any way to repair what is already broken. Relenting, you turn your phone off, curl up on the couch, and binge Netflix until bedtime. 

 

*********

 

The ghost was a little more sinister than Sam had originally anticipated. Both brothers were beaten up, a little bloodied from being flung across the room a time or two, but his appearance had worked to their advantage. Sam almost immediately recognized him from a photo as the first owner of the estate. 

 

They still managed to scale the wall, breaking into the archives like champs, and now they're pouring over files trying to figure out where the son of a bitch is buried. Dean is exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and it shows. He runs his hands through his hair, down over his face. 

 

“Dude just call her already.” Sam urges. 

 

“Not gonna happen.” Dean sighs and leans back in his chair. 

 

“Why not? What ev--” he's cut off by Dean. 

 

“She made it pretty clear in the text, Sam. She doesn't want to talk to me.”

 

“Text? Jesus, lemme read it.” Sam holds his hand out. 

 

“You're not going to let this go are you?”

 

“Nope.” 

 

Dean stands up, pulls his phone out of his pocket, tosses it on the table in front of Sam, and walks away. 

Sam reads the text, shakes his head as he looks up at Dean. 

 

“So this is it? You guys didn't even talk?”

 

“No reason to after something like that.” Dean takes his seat again, starts flipping through the record book. 

 

“You never told her.” It's more of a statement than a question, like Sam knows something Dean doesn't. 

 

Dean glances back up at his brother, arches one eyebrow inquisitively, confirming Sam's intuition. 

 

“Oh my god! You love her and you never told her!” 

 

“I didn't tell her because I'm not…not…in love with her.” Dean stumbles through the words. He slams the book closed he's been searching through, gets up to grab another from the shelves behind him. 

 

Suddenly he's thinking about how captivated he was with you. About your first kiss, all of the sexual tension leading up to it, how he'd never wanted to kiss anyone as bad as he wanted to kiss you, how it was more than even he'd fantasized. 

 

He remembers seeing you up on that stage at the Blonde Bear, how he knew right then that you'd never stop surprising him. The looks you shared in that dirty alleyway while he had you pinned against the wall, buried deep inside you. 

 

He thinks about the night in the vampire nest. How afterwards his brain wouldn’t shut off, kept replaying the night’s events; her folding to the floor, your face instead of hers as she fell, as he checked her pulse, his hands stained red with her blood. How he had to go to you, showed up unannounced, covered in blood, and you took him in, no questions asked. 

 

“Got it!” Sam calls “Roselawn cemetery.” 

 

Dean barely hears him, he's in the middle of his own epiphany, the pivotal moment where everything changes. His eyes dart around the room, thinking, running through possible scenarios. He digs in his pocket, tosses Sam Baby's keys. 

 

“You got this man?” 

 

“Umm, yea. But aren't you gonna need the car?” Sam smiles a little, knowing Dean’s goin’ back. 

 

“You're gonna need what's in the trunk. I'll borrow me a set of wheels.” 

 

“Come on. I'll help you find something.” 

 

*****

It's almost lunchtime and you're sitting in your usual spot, a speed trap just south of town. This time of day on a Sunday is generally uneventful so you're passing time playin’ solitaire on your phone. Out of nowhere a brand new Mercedes comes flying by, lighting your radar up as 82 in a 45. 

 

You flip the lights and siren on, tear out after the perp, and you'd swear he actually slowed down to let you catch up before hitting the gas again. You run the plates and the car comes back as stolen, must be your lucky day. Just ahead he stands on the brakes, making a sharp right down a dirt road. You smile knowing it dead ends in about a mile at an old fishin’ hole, and the son of a bitch is trapped. 

 

The car stops only a few feet from the water's edge. You're gun is pulled, and you're taking protective cover behind the door of the cruiser. 

 

“Step out of the vehicle with your hands up!” You shout. 

 

The driver’s door opens hesitantly, and a long jean clad leg swings out. His hands are up, his back to you. The adrenaline is coursing through your veins, heart’s pounding, you haven't seen his face, but yea...you know. 

 

Dean turns around to face you, hands still up, hoping that you'll take some sort of mercy and either kiss him or shoot him. 

 

“What the fuck, Dean?” You shout. 

 

He shrugs, “Had to get your attention.” Dropping his hands he takes a few steps in your direction, your breath hitches, your heart speeds up, if that's even possible. 

 

“Well you've got it, what do you want?” You ask as you slowly start to lower your gun and step out from behind the protection of the car’s door. 

 

He shrugs again, raises that one eyebrow, looks you directly in the eye so there's no room for a misinterpretation. 

 

“You sweetheart, I want you.”


	11. All that you've got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and reader have reunited. What happens next?

Epilogue: All that you've got

Then…

“You sweetheart, I want you.”

Dean makes short work of the space between you, crashing his lips into yours, taking your breath away. You move backwards until your weak knees are against the bumper of your squad car, and you rest against it, letting it hold you rather than relying on your muscles anymore. 

He works his way down your neck, across your collarbone, and dips below. When you make that little noise he loves he pulls back and grins. His eyes are full of lust as he looks at you, hands seeking out the buttons of your shirt, wordlessly asking for permission.

You bite your lip and run your fingers through his hair, pulling his lips to yours as you push his flannel off his shoulders. He finishes the last button of your uniform, pulls the tail up out of your belt, then pulls his own shirt down his arms before also sliding yours off, throwing them both on the hood behind you. 

Dean stops to get rid of his tee while you unbuckle your duty belt, letting it's weight fall to the ground beside you. You kick off your shoes, and when you look back up Dean is staring at you hungrily. 

“What?” You ask playfully. 

“You’re amazing.” He says as he pulls your polyester pants down your legs, kneeling in front of you in the dirt. 

He kisses his way back up your legs until he meets the apex of your thighs, his warm breath ghosting across the already wet lace, sending tingles up your spine. He hooks a finger into them by your leg, jerking the soft fabric to the side then dipping his tongue between your folds. He says something about you tasting sweet but you don't fully understand all the mumbled words over the sound of your heart beating in your ears, and his ministrations feel so fucking good that you don't really care either. 

Dean knows you're close, just as the coil starts to tighten in your belly he stands. His lips and chin are glistening with your slick, a shit eating grin plastered across his face. “Dean, please.” He loves when you beg, makes him want to tease you for hours just to hear you say it over and over. There’ll be plenty of time for teasing later, right now all Dean wants is to be inside you. 

“Wanna cum with you sweetheart.” He whispers against your lips. You grant his tongue entrance, tasting yourself on him. 

His hands roam your body, reach behind you, and with one quick flick he unhooks your bra. You take it off slowly, knowing now you have some control over Dean. His eyes never leave you, biting his bottom lip to keep his mouth from gaping open. 

You go from leaning back on the hood of your car to sitting on it, both feet propped on the bumper. You grab Dean by the front waistband of his jeans, pull him in closer between your legs. As you fingers dip just beneath the seams you feel the velvety tip of his hard length, slick with precum, seeping in anticipation. You smile as you unzip his pants, lick your lips when he bucks his hips and his cock fills your hand. 

You slide forward, every intent to drop to your knees and taste him, but he catches you, keeps you on your feet. Dean spins you around and holy shit he remembers -you remember. One very intoxicated night you confessed your most sought after fantasy, to be fucked senseless on the hood of your cruiser. You had almost forgotten about it, been so caught up in everything that's Dean, that the thought hadn't even crossed your mind, until now. 

Now...now, he's behind you, spreading your legs like he's ready to frisk you. Your face down, breasts pressed into the warm metal. He leans into you, brushes your hair off your face and to the side, his tongue grazes your ear, your neck, begins to trail your spine. His hand finds your warm wet center, he pushes two fingers in, and you have to concentrate, try not to cum before he's even really inside of you. 

He scissors his fingers, opening you up, readying you for him. His soaked fingers find your clit, making a few small teasing circles before pulling away. Your hands are splayed out on the hood by your head and as he slides his cock between your slick folds you reach for something to grab hold of, finding nothing but a pile of clothes. Low guttural moans fall from both of your lips as he fully seats himself inside of you.

He moves with passion and conviction, the push and pull of each stroke pressing you further into the metal. Dean leans forward, presses kisses to your neck as he whispers filthy fucking words into your ear. It’s hot outside, but you shiver as his breath ghosts across your skin as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth before he pulls away. He stands upright, takes a long stroke back, then slams into you causing you to cry out in ecstasy. Dean’s moans are almost as loud as your own as he sets a grueling, punishing, pace. 

There will be plenty of time to make love to you later, right now he’s needy, needing to feel you, to claim you. You’re the same... you needed Dean to step out of that car, to say those words, to make you feel wanted. 

He’s pushing so hard, so far that you’re on tiptoes, bumper pressed into your shins, calves aching, skin burning where his finger tips are pressed into your hips. You feel the coil start to tighten again, a heat start to rise through your body. You scream his name, and damn it feels natural coming off of your lips. You arch your back, press your body up off of the hood as the sensation consumes you. 

“That’s it sweetheart, cum on my cock. Wanna feel you.” The statement is torn, broken, forced out through gritted teeth as he tries to hold back his own impending release. 

You let go, one long moaning scream accompanying the spasms coursing through your body, the white light bursting behind your eyes. Dean wants to feel every bit of what you’re giving, wants to hold out just a little bit longer, but with the warmth, and the slick, and the compression of his dick, he just can’t…

 

******************************

Now….

Ahhh...The Shady Pines motel, the one place in your small hometown you had passed daily and rarely had any business with, but a place frequented by the Winchesters. Here though, they were still known as Agents ‘Allman and Betts’. 

There was what appeared to be another case in your midst. Several reports of missing persons. One had eventually returned, severely confused and delusional. Others, still out there. The Sheriff gave Sam and Dean the victim’s names and next of kin, assured the agents that he would notify them of any new information on the case, and escorted them to the front door. He was keeping this case pretty hush hush, even within the department. 

You managed to hang back, ask Deputy Johnson a few questions. Making sure the Sheriff was preoccupied, Johnson quietly told you that he was the one to find the first victim, and how he thought old guy was just drunk at first, staggering down a one lane road at 3 am, babbling incoherently, but his condition had never improved from that night. 

You reported back to the motel, telling the boys exactly what Johnson had told you, although you felt it to be fairly irrelevant. Sam is already on the laptop, typing away and Dean’s looking through his father’s journal, so you grab a lore book and start flipping through pages. Two hours later and the only hypothesis is that it may be a wraith, but even that’s not solid. 

“I’m gonna go grab us some food, ok?” Without really giving either of them a chance to respond you swing the door open, all but throwing yourself into the cool air. Taking a couple of deep breaths you pull the front of your flannel closed, cross your arms across your chest, and start making your way across the dimly lit parking lot. 

You hear footsteps coming up behind. Spinning on your heels you pull your gun from your waist band. He’s not at all deterred, has your gun in his hand, the rest of you wrapped in his arms before you even have a chance to protest further. He breathes into your ear, “Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be out alone at night,” pressing you against the brick wall as he says it and you're not sure if it’s him or the cold that sends a shiver racing through your body. 

This is when you move, use a cross between the self defense skills you learned as a police officer and the ones Sam’s shown you recently. Guess he didn’t expect you to fight back, get the best of him, because before he knows it his back is on the concrete and you're straddling him, the gun back in your hand, pressing into his chest. He raises his hands in defeat, eliciting a small smile from you. You look into his eyes, the fucking light catching them just right for you to see flecks of shimmering gold dancing within the mossy green. 

His hands are on you again, only this time they’re tangled in your hair, pulling you closer to him, closer and closer until your lips meet, and you sigh into it. Your body moves almost involuntarily, hips shifting, grinding against him.. 

You finally break for air. “Explain to me exactly why I shouldn’t be out here alone?” You move to your feet, offer him your hand to help him up. 

Dean grins at you, steals another kiss. “Had to know you’re safe, sweetheart. Besides, I thought you could use some help carrying the food back.”

“How chivalrous of you.” You chuckle, taking his arm as you begin your walk.

***  
You sit in a booth across from Dean while you wait for your to go orders. It's oddly reminiscent for Dean --the same booth, you staring off into a cup of coffee-- he knows now that this is where it happened. That very first night (er morning, whatever!) in this exact diner is where he fell for you. By now he knows you well enough to know that something is weighing heavily on your mind. 

“You OK, Y/N?” he asks, waving his hand in front of your face.

You snap out of your trance, “Yea, sure, I’m OK?” You blink a couple of times, take a deep breath. 

“This is me you’re talkin’ to. Tell me what you’re thinkin’.” He cocks his head a little to the side, waits patiently for your answer. 

“It's just…” You shake your head, looking a little defeated in the moment. “I grew up here, I know most of these people.” You run your fingers through your hair, brushing it back out of your face. “It was easier before I guess.” 

“Before you knew what was out there?”

Nodding, “Yea. Before I always looked at it as awful people doing awful things. Now… It's worse things doing awful things. I know, I'm probably making no sense at all.” You roll your eyes at yourself, lean back and sink down into the booth.

Dean reaches for your hand, holds on to it as he slides out of his side of the booth and in beside you. “I know exactly what you mean, it’s hard losing people, especially people you know,” He pulls you in close, “I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but it doesn’t.”

“I don’t expect it to. Let’s just find this fucking thing and kill it, OK?” 

Dean pulls you tight, rests his chin on the top of your head. “Yea, Ok.”

***

When you return to the station the next afternoon you use a strategic box of doughnuts and take full advantage of the Sheriff’s absence by breaking into his office. He had never given you reason to doubt his integrity but you felt strongly that he was withholding information about the case, information Sam and Dean may need to break this sucker wide open. Once inside you rifle through stacks of papers, his file cabinet, miscellaneous other sources, to no avail. You even turn on his laptop, password still the same after all this time, Cruise55, but find nothing even remotely associated with the case.  
Not being able to shake the feeling that he’s hiding something, you finally resort to rifling through drawers. The bottom one is locked. Where’s Dean’s expertise in this department when you need it? You think to yourself, biting your lip as you contemplate. Suddenly you have an epiphany. Once several years ago the Sheriff, being the asshole that he generally was, reprimanded you, then a rookie, by having you clean his pig sty of an office. While dusting you found a small key, tucked discretely between two books. You had put it back of course, not wanting anything to be out of place, warranting another of his tantrums. You wonder now if perhaps it’s exactly what you need.  
You scoot the desk chair over to the shelves, climb up, and voila! Still in the same place. “Definitely a creature of habit,” You state to no one but yourself as you step down.  
You place the key in the lock and it works. As you open the drawer you smirk a little, slightly impressed with yourself. Your smirk quickly turns to a furrowed brow when you start to look at its contents. Four small wooden statues, of seemingly men with crow-like faces and wings. It’s not what you expected but definitely weird enough for you to snap a photo with your phone before returning everything to its place.  
As you round the corner out his office you almost run head on into the Sherriff. “What’re you doin’ here chipmunk?” He asks, voice dripping with suspicion.  
“Was over in Tuckersville this morning, ran across those blueberry filled doughnuts you like so well. I just left a dozen on your desk.”  
“That’s why you’re my favorite,” He chuckles. “Now, get out there and catch some bad guys.”  
“Yes sir.” The entire situation making you uneasy and you can't get out the door fast enough.  
***

You toss your phone to Sam, have him take a look at the pictures you took in the Sheriff’s office. He's intrigued but has no idea what the statues are either, so he sets to doing what he does best: research. 

“Any luck interviewing the families?” 

“Nope, not a single lead,” Dean says frustrated. “How bout you, get anything out of the widow over in Tuckersville?”

You shake your head no, “Husband had been arrested a few times for drunk and disorderly. Nothing else ‘strange,’ no smells, no hallucinations, nothing. The guy just up and vanished from work.”

“Great, so we're back to square one.” Dean rubs his palms down his face, sighing heavily as he grabs another lore book from the stack. 

“I’m gonna make a food run across the street. What d’ya guys want?”

“Burger.”

“Salad.”

You pull on your jacket and sigh, “Predictable as always. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Y/N?” Dean calls after you.

You stop, one foot out the door, “Yea?”

“Don’t forget the pie.”

You roll your eyes, hold your hand over your heart as though you’re injured. “I’ve never!”

He purses his lips and nods. “You hear that Sammy? She’s never forgotten the pie.”

“You guys just keep rubbing salt in that wound, don’t ya?” You hear Sam say as you’re closing the door behind you. 

Still giggling, you make your way down the sidewalk. Even with the road noise you can hear footsteps coming closer. Completely expecting Dean, you make the decision not to draw your weapon. When you feel strong arms wrap around your torso you almost relax, sink back into them, but then they tighten, constricting you until you feel like you can’t breathe. When his arms loosen a bit you gasp, drawing in the overwhelming scent of Aqua Velva just before the rag is placed over your nose and mouth rendering you completely unconscious. You fall to the ground where you’re scooped up and placed into a nearby car. 

***  
“Ha! Take a look at this.” Sam calls Dean over to the laptop.

Dean leans over Sam’s shoulder, squinting at the screen, “It’s ugly. What is it?”

“A Tengu, lore says it’s a forest goblin akin to a shapeshifter. It has the face of a crow but can easily disguise itself as human, can either kill or leave its victims in a permanent state of dementia. This is what Y/N found statues of in the Sheriff’s office.”

“Good work,” Dean pats Sam once on the back as he straightens up. “I’m gonna to go tell her, help with the food.”

Sam’s face still dutifully glued to the screen gathering all the information he can,“Mm’k.”

Dean grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and heads out the door. He's not looking down as he walks, but he hears something crunch, it slides a little causing his foot to slip so he glances down to see what the nuisance is. When he sees it's your glasses lying broken on the ground panic mode sets in. 

He bursts through the motel room door yelling. “Sam! She's gone, it took her!” His face changes from panicked to determined, “Tell me you've figured out how to kill this son of a bitch.”

“No...nothing.” Sam sputters out. 

“Well, you said shifter so silver will have to do.” Dean checks his duffle, pulls out a couple of shiny knives, handing one to Sam. 

“I'm not sure it'll work.”

“It has to, Sam. It has to.” Dean opens an ammo box of homemade silver bullets, begins loading them into the clip of his 1911 whilst Sam mimics his brothers actions. 

***  
Slowly returning to consciousness, it doesn't take long for you to realize that you've been bound. The rope burns into your wrists as you struggle against them to no avail. The door creaks open, heavy footsteps entering the room. Your eyes are still trying to adjust, squinting as you slowly raise your head to face your captor...Sheriff? 

“Break time’s over Bitch!” He bellows, voice so loud it's almost thundering off the walls of the small cabin. “Did you really think that any of us believed you’d left us to work for the FBI? You were a shitty deputy at best, Y/N.”

“Really, I thought I was your favorite.” You croak out sarcastically. 

“You were, but only because you're so gullible. There's no way you're good enough to play in the big leagues,” he comes closer, hovering over you. “So you leave --whatever, no skin off my teeth…right? Until you show back up after two years, bring those fucking hunters snoopin’ around here with ya.” 

Your heart’s about to pound out of your chest, but you maintain a stone cold facade. “I'm going to kill you,” the words leave your tongue evenly, smoothly, without the slightest trace of a tremble. 

The condescending asshole winks at you, “I highly doubt that, chipmunk. I'm surprised you made it as long as you did, huntin’s a big boy job too.”

“Untie me. I'll show you who can play with the big boys.” You taunt. 

“Naaaa, I think I'll leave you right there a few days, wait’n see if your friends show up. Haven't decided yet if I'm going to make them watch me kill you…or, the other way ‘round. Either way you've all gotta die.” 

“Yea, good luck with that!” You spit. 

“Thank you Y/N for helping me make my decision. You will be the one watching me kill th--” 

He’s cut short by Dean bursting through the door, gun drawn, Sam right behind him. Dean has an icy stare, doesn't say a word as he holds the gun steadily on the Sheriff, prompting him to raise his hands as he slowly steps further away from you. 

Tucking his gun into the waistband of his pants, Sam moves to you. He pulls a knife from his jacket, the silver blade glistening, even in the dim light. This catches the Tengu’s attention. He suddenly changes form in the blink of an eye. Nose changing into a large beak, arms now large wings which surge toward Dean, tossing him backwards into you and Sam. The three of you toppling over into a pile together. 

Somehow Dean makes it out fairly unscathed, probably due to the soft landing provided by you and his brother, and is back to sparring with the bird man. You're still bound to the chair, the blow coming before Sam was able to completely free you. You know you're bleeding, can feel it running down your temple, but it's only a trickle. Sam's not so lucky, unconscious on the floor, but you can still see the rise and fall of his chest so you know he's alive. 

You struggle once again to free yourself, it still burns like hell, but the second attempt proves fruitful as the partially severed ropes snap. You don’t initially move, seeking out Sam’s dropped silver knife then signaling Dean with only your eyes. He draws the creature’s attention away from you to the other side of the room. Moving quickly you attain the weapon, climbing to your feet and towards the distracted monster. He partially turns, catches you in his sights as you plunge the weapon into his flank. 

He's stunned, shocked to say the least. You look him right in the eye, raising your eyebrows in a patronizing fashion, grip still strong on the handle as you twist it inside your one time mentor. The life fades from his body as relief washes over yours. 

***

The rhythm of the wipers, coupled with the steady fall of the rain, is calming after the night you’ve had. It might be too calming, because your eyes start to fall shut, you startle when oncoming headlights glare on the windshield. Dean’s hand squeezes your knee, and you raise your head from where it rested against the passenger side window. 

“How you feelin’, sweetheart?”

“Mmmm, sleepy.”

“Yea?”

“Yea.”

“You ok with what happened back there?” 

You sit up and adjust in your seat, take a quick glance back at Sam who’s lightly snoring. “Actually I am. Feels good, feels final.”

“Did you see tha look on his face?” Dean chuckles. “He should've never underestimated you.”

“Yea?” You shyly look out the window. 

Dean reaches over, takes your hand and you look back to him. “Babe, I've told you before, I'm tellin’ you again...you're dangerous. You and Sammy are the only two people I want to have my back out there.”

“Good, ‘cause you're not gettin’ rid of me anytime soon.” 

“Wanna go home or you up for a haunting in Georgia?”

You scoot around until you’re curled in the seat, head in Dean’s lap. “Up to you, I am home.”

He smiles, “Me too,” runs his fingers through your hair, lowly hums along with Bob Seger, as you drift off to sleep.


End file.
